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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959855">Across the universe</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Download077/pseuds/Download077'>Download077</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Child of Jörmungandr [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overlord - Maruyama Kugane &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cheesy romance, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Set in Real Life on the Seventh Floor, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, feelings are hard, self indulgent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:28:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Download077/pseuds/Download077</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “Do you not see, Winterberry!? Why, If I love you here, I would-- Nein! I shall love you there! Anywhere! Truly, Schätzchen! I swear to it so! Understand that my love for you is not bound by your godhood but by who you are.” </i>
</p>
<p>...He wasn't kidding.</p>
<p>Also known as boy meets girl. Pan Darsteller meets Holly Leonhardt. Pan blackmails Holly. Wait, what? Yep. Pan, a nefarious hacker, blackmails Holly into becoming his assistant during a seemingly innocent interview. Holly, reluctant to join him, ultimately becomes his accomplice because it’s not like she had any choice in the matter to begin with. Not when he can turn her life upside down with the click of a button.</p>
<p>The dude’s a total crook. A psycho. And his wardrobe is ridiculous.</p>
<p>But... there’s something about him. He’s just really familiar, ya know?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Demiurge (Overlord - Maruyama Kugane)/Original Female Character(s), Pandora's Actor (Overlord - Maruyama Kugane)/Original Female Character(s), Pandora's Actor (Overlord - Maruyama Kugane)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Child of Jörmungandr [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1275569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Across the universe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/17506664">Real Life on the Seventh Floor</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kensalyn/pseuds/Kensalyn">Kensalyn</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> You just lost your job.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p>
<p>
  <sub>Chapter one</sub>
</p>
<p>𝘈𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦</p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Wanna know what sucks?</p>
<p>There are a couple of things. Vacuum cleaners and black holes, for starters.</p>
<p>Wanna know what else sucks?</p>
<p>Losing your job.</p>
<p>Yep. Today’s a great day, right?</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>You slam your hands against your steering wheel. God damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it! You’d never planned on arriving to work early only to be handed your final paycheck! What gives?! Can they do this?! Seriously?!</p>
<p>This, this is just?! Ugh!</p>
<p>Three years! Three freakin’ years of hard work! </p>
<p>Three whole years...</p>
<p>...just gone.</p>
<p>Of course. Of freakin’ course! Of course the studio would close. Who in their right minds nowadays would want to spend hard earned cash on getting their photos taken?! Not when everyone has a damn camera in their back pocket named Android or Apple.</p>
<p>I mean, you knew the business would come to an end some day. Hell, maybe even earlier than you had originally anticipated. But today?</p>
<p>
  <em> Really?! </em>
</p>
<p>You swipe the side of your hand against your nose, because you’re a total wreck right now, snot drooling down your face as you sob while stabbing your house key into your car’s ignition. Ugh! Man, this sucks! Why today of all days?! Well, to be fair, it’s not like today is particularly special for any reason, it’s just…</p>
<p>You were having a good morning, ya know?</p>
<p>Look. You woke up on the right side of the bed, took a shower, damn, you didn’t even skip breakfast! And really, who even eats breakfast nowadays? Seriously, you took the time to scrounge up some grub instead of opting out for the food court.</p>
<p>...Aww <em>man</em> you’re so gonna miss the food court…</p>
<p>You stuff your paycheck into the center console. Yeahh, you’re gonna need to deposit that bad boy on the double. The whole company is going under; Not just the franchise.</p>
<p>This.</p>
<p>Sucks.</p>
<p>F in the chat for saving up the money for Ygg two.</p>
<p>F</p>
<p>It’s...sigh. Time to be an adult and start sending out some resumes. That you uh, really need to update. Bad. You’ve had this job since you graduated so you’ve kinda got your work cut out for you.</p>
<p>Now that you’ve calmed yourself down you can fumble the correct key, ya know, the car key, into place. Ugh, your head hurts..</p>
<p>Your car groans as you shift your gears into reverse. A jerk and a jump of the engine along with a few don’t mind those strange noises later you pull out of the parking lot and head to the bank. </p>
<p>Then home.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>
  <em> Please don’t let Mom be home. Please don’t let Mom be home. </em>
</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p><hr/>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Hey.</p>
<p>Wanna know what stinks?</p>
<p>Skunks, that Tupperware in the back of the fridge, and feet, for starters.</p>
<p>Wanna know what else stinks?</p>
<p>Today.</p>
<p>Today freakin’ stinks.</p>
<p>You also stink. Sweat has you all stinky and there are rings under your pits. Ugh! It’s hotter than walking on the freakin’ sun out here! A few years back your AC took a dump and take a wild guess as to who has been stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for the last hour? </p>
<p>You. </p>
<p>Typically it’s not a bad drive. Fifteen minutes tops. However, today, because of course it had to happen today, some dumb ass found it wise to play hopscotch with his car at sixty and plow into the median.</p>
<p>After forever and an eternity you make it to the bank. Then home. Left eye twitching as your undercarriage <em> scrrrrapes </em> against the driveway, you pull in, grab your junk, kick the car door shut, and head inside.</p>
<p>Doors locked. Fishing out your keys, they jingle and clank around as you unlock the deadbolt because you’ve got too much clutter on them as it is. Ya know, the usual stuff. Charms, one of those beaded lizard things from high school, and keys that you don’t remember where or what they’re for. </p>
<p>Relief floods your sigh as you shove the door open. Thank god and the baby jesus. Air conditioning. And? Mom’s not home. All the lights are off and hey, <em> sniff sniff, </em> is that bacon?</p>
<p>Sweeeet.</p>
<p>Gonna get you some of that after a shower. </p>
<p>You peel off your clothes while grunting down the hallway. Not a single fuck is given as you toss them into your bedroom before heading into the bathroom. Bye. The faucet whines as you fiddle with finding the temperature you like, ya know, the kinda hot that makes Satan squeamish?</p>
<p>Good stuff.</p>
<p>Scrub-a-dub-dub not gonna stink no more so you wash off with a thick lather of some cheap body wash that smells like peaches. It’s great. The bottle says something fancy like, <em> Tahitian clay with musk of fig, </em>but yeahhh it was like a $1.50 so no. It’s peaches.</p>
<p>You wrap your hair up like alibaba with the same towel you’ve been using to dry off with for the last three, wait--four? Huh. Maybe you should wash this thing. Instead you search for the cleanest pair of pajamas among a pile of clothes near your bed before hopping onto your computer.</p>
<p>Time to get down to business. Cracking your knuckles, you boot up your PC--Wait! Bacon! You go and get the bacon. Mm. Bacon.</p>
<p>Now we’re good. </p>
<p>While clicking open the programs necessary to fumble your way through a resume you take a sip off of an energy drink from the previous night. There’s a little bit left annnd as expected, it’s flat. You wince. Delicious.</p>
<p>The cursor blinks on an endless loop as you stare at the empty word pad. Okay, think. What are you good at? Well, your work experience for your age is impressive but...it’s no longer practical. Needless to say? It’s niche but you’re pretty damn great with photo manipulation. A year of training and then two at the shop as head of make our clients prettier than they actually are with a computer reaffirms that sentiment.</p>
<p>Of course there’s customer service. You’re a pro at kissing ass.</p>
<p>And...that’s about it. Awesome. People are gonna line up to hire you.</p>
<p>Next? Okay, there’s education. High school and a year of college but you dropped out because of work. Which closed. Ugh...you should have stayed in school..</p>
<p>Whatever. Hobbies? Potential employers like to know that kinda stuff, right? </p>
<p>You tap your mouse in thought. Ya know, really? For the most part you’re just kinda eh. You like to think you’re cool but...it’s as they say. You’re just as unique as everyone else! Sigh. Okay. So you can draw and you like to play video games. </p>
<p>..That’s a bit of an understatement.</p>
<p><em> You love to play video games. </em> If you could've afforded it? You would’ve said fuck it to the world and lived in Yggdrasil. Just log out to go pee and eat and then dive back in.</p>
<p>But someone like you? Getting their hands on a rig that can play Ygg?</p>
<p>Yeah, right.</p>
<p>Moving on.</p>
<p>It takes you around ten minutes to type all of this in, spell check it, and format it. Wow that’s...that’s it. </p>
<p>..It’s so plain. Boring. Like bland oatmeal with a few bullet points and a header. Damn, it even reads like glue..</p>
<p>Your shoulders slump as a pit draws itself into your stomach. No one...no one is gonna want to hire you. You’re just gonna be another <em> next. </em>A drop of ink in the virtual ocean.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>A blue icon tucked into the left of your screen, just above your recycle bin, catches your eye as you tease your cursor around the screen. Hmm. Ya know what? That’s not a bad idea. With a smirk taking your face, you click your mouse, boot that bad boy on up, and drag your resume into the program.</p>
<p>Time to give this resume a makeover.</p>
<p>You take another sip off of your energy drink. Bleh. Okay. Anyways. Here’s the deal. You just want this to stand out among the crowd. This needs to grab some attention if you’re gonna even try to give yourself a chance. Especially in your field of experience? You think some flair will set you aside from everyone else.</p>
<p>Here’s to hoping.</p>
<p>White background? Nah. Dark red but keep that white text so it pops. Don’t think of a zit. That’s nasty.</p>
<p>Black border, but instead of it being a block around your resume you swap it for something a bit more feminine. Filigree. <em> Nice </em>.</p>
<p>Typical rectangular shape? As if! They’re gonna expect that so let’s go with an oval and center all of the text.</p>
<p>...This looks like a wedding invitation.</p>
<p>Heh. You said you wanted to be remembered!</p>
<p>Hm. A crunchy whine grates the air as you lean back into your swivel chair. It’s not bad but it could just..use something more. Something bigger. Louder.</p>
<p>Hey! It needs a touch more of color. If you’re gonna go for the classy and formal vibe might as well add in a bit of gold. The bullet points. Fatten them up so they look like some snazzy buttons on the tuxedo of your resume.</p>
<p>While configuring your resume and adding in a few last minute touches your computer <em> dings! </em> with the want of an update. An update you’ve been putting off because you don’t want to restart your computer because it takes eight hundred years to boot back up.</p>
<p>No. Bad computer. Maybe later.</p>
<p>As if to say hey, <em> fuck you too</em>, your computer chimes off with another warning as you close the window. Pffft. Whatever.</p>
<p>You scroll through your town’s local listings and job offers, submitting your resume wherever viable as well as a few other places that probably don’t exactly make a whole lotta sense but…you’re kinda jobless right now. Can’t afford to be picky. </p>
<p>Sadly, there’s not a lot, and--</p>
<p>--the sound of your front door creaking open sends your heart into your throat. Yikes! Mom’s home! Mission abort! Abort! You really, <em> reallllly </em>don’t want to talk about losing your job right now!</p>
<p>Nope!</p>
<p>You throw a hand behind your monitor and flip it off before pole vaulting onto your bed. Rolling yourself up into your comforter like a burrito, you shove a pillow between your legs before squeezing your eyes shut. </p>
<p>That’s right. Curl up like an armadillo. Just pretend to be asleep as she opens the door. Just stay still. She can’t see you if you stay still. She’s like a T-Rex and unless there’s movement she won’t know you’re there.</p>
<p>Mom opens your bedroom door with a sigh. Just stay still. Luckily, she closes your door without a word and you thank whatever god you deem necessary at the time.</p>
<p>You release your breath. Well, you’re already here. Might as well take a nap. It’s not like you have any work to actually do!</p>
<p>....</p>
<p>...Haha..ha..</p>
<p>You curl around your pillow.</p>
<p>Maybe...maybe you’ll wake up to a job offer. Maybe.</p>
<p>...Maybe.</p>
<p>That’s if you can even fall asleep, that is.</p>
<p>
  <em> Brrring! </em>
</p>
<p>Wha…huh? Ugh, you blink your eyes open with a groan. Wait, did you fall asleep--Oh! Oh, hey! That’s your phone! You have an email!</p>
<p>Thumbs working faster than they should, you dive into your inbox and see an email from someone named.. P3t3rP@n?</p>
<p>Wait, like the dude in green tights?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>𝘛𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘯,</p>
<p>𝘎𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘺!</p>
<p>𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦 𝘢 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭.</p>
<p>𝘈𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘤𝘰𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘦𝘦 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘶 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.</p>
<p>𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘦𝘣 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯, 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯.</p>
<p>𝘞𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘭.</p>
<p>𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘺!</p>
<p>𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺,</p>
<p>𝘗𝘢𝘯. 𝘋</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This afternoon?! Whoa, okay, this dude doesn’t dick around!</p>
<p>Your eyes dart between the email and the bottom right of your screen that reads, wait, it’s 3:30pm?!</p>
<p>Oh my god! How long were you out?!</p>
<p>You scramble to open up the drop down menu and hit reply. He sent this email at 10:42am, <em> fuuuck. </em>So much for a prompt reply, but hey, better late than never!</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘗𝘢𝘯. 𝘋,</p>
<p>𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘦! 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘷𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶.</p>
<p>𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺,</p>
<p>𝘏. 𝘓𝘦𝘰𝘯</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay. Cool. Short but sweet. You know from experience to not add any unnecessary bullshit into emails when dealing with business. Generally speaking, it’s always best to just get straight and to the point. No nonsense. However, you hope that exclamation point you put in helps show that you’re eager to work. </p>
<p>Fingers crossed. Brevity is the soul of wit, after all—</p>
<p>
  <em> Brrring! </em>
</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>No way--Oh wow, holy shit, it’s him! That was fast! Aww man, this is great! He must need someone really bad!</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘏. 𝘓𝘦𝘰𝘯,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭! 𝘈𝘤𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭, 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘥𝘥. 𝘈𝘩, 𝘺𝘦𝘴. 𝘔𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘣𝘺 4:30𝘱𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘱.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹 𝘰𝘯 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘴 0110. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘳𝘺𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘢𝘺, 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭. 𝘏𝘢𝘩𝘢!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>𝘐𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘰 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘸.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺,</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>𝘗𝘢𝘯. 𝘋</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>4:30pm?! And it’s...oh good god damn it’s 3:42pm. Ugh! You can’t show up at this guy's place lookin’ like a bum that rolled out of bed! Not to mention that Gravestone way was by your old job, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck! That’s fifteen minutes away! Probably thirty due to the time of day!</p>
<p>Holy shit! You’ve maybe got ten minutes to your name to grab your portfolio, get dressed, and make yourself look halfway decent!</p>
<p>You throw on a pair of black slacks, hoisting them up above your belly because we are not rocking a muffin top today! No m’am! Next comes the top, a black ruffly blouse with sleeves that come down to the forearm. </p>
<p>Damn it, you hate high heels but you slip on a pair. Visuals are important, you’ve gotta sell yourself first before you can sell your actual work and abilities. People eat food with their eyes before their mouths and you’re damn right that employment is the same way.</p>
<p>Ughhhh, you can’t exactly style your hair right now. There’s no time! So you brush that orange curly mess back and out of your face. You throw in a few bobby pins to keep your bangs in check, and it’s not like you need glasses but hey, they make you look smart, so you snatch a pair up before bolting out of your room.</p>
<p>You grab your purse, portfolio, and art book. Who knows, it might come up. You listed art as a hobby and you wanna be able to use it for a point of reference should Pan. D ask about it. </p>
<p>"Later Ma! I'll tell you what's going on when I get back! Kay thanks byeee!" You call out as you slam the front door behind you. Echoing through the house you can hear her confusion as she yells something back but yeahh you’ve already got one foot inside your car.</p>
<p>You take a minute to collect yourself. </p>
<p>Okay.</p>
<p>The orange light on your dashboard above your stereo reads 4:06pm.</p>
<p>Time to floor it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p>
<p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p>
<p>
  <sub> I had the artwork above of Holly and Pan commissioned. 💖 The wonderful artist behind the piece is someone who goes by the name of Yumoe. You can find their art and commission information by clicking here: <a href="https://ailengarcia.wixsite.com/yumoe">Yumoe!</a> 

</sub></p>
<p>
  <sub> For my readers that have been with me awhile: Notice anything different? 😏 <i> Ohohoo did I rewrite this whole thing? Maybe. </i> I won't be deleting the original version, however. That's gonna stay in my one shot collection. I think it's charming to look back and see the progress I've made as a writer.

</sub></p>
<p>
  <sub> RLotSF means a lot to me. It's given me so much joy as I'm sure it has others. And continues to do so. But now? I get to have my own piece in it. Kensalyn says it's like I'm in her dollhouse and she gets to see how someone else does things with what she's established. I've always enjoyed how she said that. And I know it takes a lot of trust to let someone play with your work like that.  So thank you, Biffle. For trusting me, inspiring me, and for allowing me to move into the tenth floor of your doll house. 😉💖</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. P3t3r P@n</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> You have an interview. Somehow you piss off the main characters from RLotSF.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter two<br/></sub>
</p><p>𝘗3𝘵3𝘳 𝘗@𝘯</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Driving mach five with your hair on fire as you zip through traffic, you finally make it to the apartment complex on Gravestone way with just a few minutes to spare.</p><p><em> Shit crap damn fuck </em> and all the other curses you know fall from your mouth as you scramble around to grab your things. Purse, portfolio, art book, annnnnd you’re off! With the kick of your stiletto, you slam your car door shut.</p><p>You speed across the parking lot, nearly tripping to death as your heel catches on a dip in the asphalt. Heart trapped in your throat, you stumble forward, catching yourself before jerking your head from left to right.</p><p>Okay, <em> phew</em>. No one saw that.</p><p>Twin glass doors slide open on proximity as you dash through them and towards the elevator just ahead. You tap the flashing arrow key like a button mash prompt. </p><p>
  <em> BBBBBBBB. </em>
</p><p>You fish your phone out of your back pocket, thumb swiping against the touch screen.</p><p>4:24pm. Your heart skips a beat.</p><p>Come on come on come onnnn!</p><p>
  <em> Ding! </em>
</p><p>You dart inside. All that matters now is getting to this interview on time. Faster than humanly possible you’re selecting the tenth floor and when the prompt asks for a pass code you punch that in as well. 0110--<em> Ding! </em> Access granted! Releasing a sigh, you tap the inward facing arrow keys for the doors to slide shut.</p><p>"Excuse me! Can you hold the door for us, please?" A sultry voice calls out, low in tone, like that of an all too rare alto in a choir of sopranos. You can just barely catch a woman waving your way through the elevator doors. Ya know, the ones that you’re trying to get to close?</p><p>...You’re such a dick. Sorry random chick but like Hell you’re gonna be late for this interview. She’s gonna have to wait.</p><p>A wince takes your face. "I'msorryIwouldifIcould!" </p><p>Hey, you said sorry! That counts for something, right?</p><p>As the elevator door closes you catch a glimpse of what is quite possibly the freakin’ scariest dude you’ve ever seen cutting you down to size with just a look. Yikes! Dressed in a crimson business suit with salmon colored pinstripes, black oxford shoes, and glasses that look as though they cost three months salary, the man sneers your way as he runs his tongue over his teeth.</p><p>Yeahhh, <em> yikes</em>. How about no.</p><p>You press the button call prompt for the doors to close a few extra times for good measure.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“I’m fine, I swear,” she was saying as Demiurge reached to hover a hand around her, a slight wobble threatening to occur. “I can walk alright till we get in private.” </p><p>“Perhaps, but I am not comfortable with the fact that you are unable to do more than that,” Demiurge said, watching her closely for any sign of faltering. </p><p>She gently moved his hand away yet again. “It’s just a muscle strain, and if I act like it’s too bad, it’ll be suspicious I healed so quickly! Please, don’t worry, I promise I’m ok as long as I walk slow.” </p><p>“The elevator is quite private,” Demiurge pressed. “When we are within, I would ask to alleviate your pain without a further delay.” </p><p>“It doesn’t hurt, I promise,” she said, smiling sincerely. He frowned back. He stepped quickly ahead to open the door to the lobby and moved aside carefully to guide her in. </p><p>“Nevertheless, I will not stand for a moment of this longer than is required,’ he added in almost a plea as the door slid shut well after she was inside. </p><p>“Ok, alright, you win,” she giggled, pausing for a moment to take a breath. “In the elevator. I guess that’s ok.” It was taking a lot of concentration to move without aggravating the muscle in her thigh too much. It would be nice to just have it over with, even if it was just a small discomfort.</p><p>From across the lobby came a ding, and Mira lifted her head up from staring at her thigh at the sound. Yep, the elevator had just arrived, and dashing inside as soon as the doors opened was a curly burst of red hair. It wasn’t a familiar figure… maybe someone visiting the building? Or just someone they hadn’t met yet. </p><p>Ah, well, they might not have the elevator to themselves anymore, but at least it would be a quick trip back upstairs. Mira put a smile across her face. "Excuse me! Can you hold the door for us, please?" </p><p>The girl’s shoulders, which had just relaxed in a sigh, jumped back up. Mira could see the cringe in her expression from across the room as a hand, already reaching for the buttons, hesitated before shooting forward. The doors started to close. </p><p>"I'msorryIwouldifIcould!" came the rushed reply.</p><p> Demi had turned from anxiously observing Mira’s leg as well, watching the doors inch shut as the red-head’s eyes flashed over to him and grew wider before vanishing from view. Mira could feel the heat emanating from him. </p><p>“...Demiurge?” </p><p>“Yes, my Lady?” came the tense reply. </p><p>“You ok?” In one move, Mira was lifted into his arms with an eep and Demi was headed for the staircase, driven with a seething frustration. </p><p>“I will be momentarily.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> Ding! </em>
</p><p>You step onto the tenth floor and...</p><p>Well.</p><p>This is...eerie.</p><p>There’s uh..one door. One. At the very end of the hallway. A single light hums from the ceiling with the occasional flicker and electrical buzz. The air is cold, too. Sets your teeth on edge as you glance around and clutch your purse a little tighter. </p><p>Unlike the carpet from the lobby it looks like the tenth floor opted for concrete, is that what the floor is? Possibly? Huh. Maybe Pan D. is the apartment complex’s maintenance worker. Ya know, one of those guys that lives here free of charge so long as he fixes stuff for the tenants? </p><p>Dark walls with stripes of fluorescent teal carved down the middle light the way towards the end of this hallway that feels more like a tunnel. No really. They actually light up and it’s pretty damn cool. </p><p>Yet…</p><p>Even though you’re walking straight? </p><p>You can’t...can’t quite shake the feeling that you’re walking down.</p><p>…</p><p>H-Hey, it’s normal to feel this way, right? Job interviews are supposed to make you feel anxious!</p><p>..Right?</p><p>It's 4:30pm on the dot as you arrive before that big ol’ reinforced steel door at the end of the hallway. </p><p>Deep breath, you've got this. Squaring your shoulders, you give the door before you a knock.</p><p>First, you hear footsteps that sound like someone is....marching?</p><p>Second, the unlocking of too many deadbolts to count, chain locks, and the <em> beep! </em> of a security system deactivating.</p><p>Third?</p><p>The door is yanked open as a man dressed in some wack ass yellow civil war era memorabilia like uniform steps outside, back facing you with a phone pressed between his head and shoulder as he wraps up a conversation in...is that German? Isn’t German the language where they sound really mad when they talk?</p><p>Pan D. or, well, you think this the right place? Anyways. Pan D. barks a laugh that roars down the tenth floor as he dances his fingers across a tablet while nodding his head. As he tucks his phone away he spins on a heel to face you, chest puffed out and shining with an assortment of medals and ribbons.</p><p>Pan D. stomps his boots. “Aha! Vergib mir! I appreciate your patience, my good sir! Now then, Leon--!”</p><p>His expression blanks.</p><p>You sneak a glance over your shoulder and towards the elevator.</p><p>Then back to him.</p><p>Then back to the elevator doors.</p><p>A pit draws itself into your stomach as a grin carves itself into Pan D.’s face. Smacking a hand against his heart, Pan gasps, “Mademoiselle!”</p><p>Oh. Oh dear god.</p><p>Color drains from your cheeks. You creep a foot backwards, stealing another glance towards the elevator and before you can turn back to face this crazy bastard he’s--?! <em> Oh my god he’s already behind you</em>.</p><p>Pan clasps his hands upon your shoulders and gives you a squeeze. Without warning he pushes you forward like a nurse would a patient on a gurney, and all the while he’s nearly vibrating as he exclaims, “Hahaha! Hallo, Hallo! Warm greetings unto you my soon to be protege! As stated in the email the name is Pan, Pan Darsteller! The one and only!”</p><p>The door slams shut.</p><p>"Tell me,” Pan chuckles as he re-locks his assortment of deadbolts and reactivates his security system. “What might your name be, young lady? I would very much so like to gain an understanding as to what that lovely H of yours is followed by!”</p><p>"Um..H-Holly? Yeah! H-Holly," Against your better judgement, you reach a hand towards him. ”I-It's nice to meet youuuu--!?"</p><p>Pan snatches your hand and gives you a handshake that has you bouncing around like a ball on a ping pong paddle. "Ah! Wunderbar! Such a beautiful name for a beautiful woman! Truly, the pleasure is mine!"</p><p>By the time Pan has released your hand? You’re breathless, dazed, confused and holy shit are you being kidnapped right now? Is this what’s going on?!</p><p>Pan hums as he marches forward, hand in the air, finger wagging as he gestures for you to follow him in deeper to his apartment. Biting back a whimper, you... do just that.</p><p>As you follow Pan you need to blink a few times to adjust to the lights, or, rather, lack thereof. It’s dark like a cavern in here and kinda feels like one, too. Spacious and relatively empty, save for a few articles of interest. A desk that stretches from wall to wall cluttered with computer monitors, gadgets, and wires held together by zip ties. Notepads and pens decorate his work station, as well.</p><p>Above the desk rests a glass cabinet of sorts that’s been slotted into the wall. Ya know, one of those ones meant to show off fancy stuff? Yeah. That’s what it is and it’s chock full of collectors items. Model Airplanes, open faced geodes with dazzling colors, foreign currency, medals, medallions, ribbons, jewels, war documents in frames, and...there’s a lot. </p><p>Pan pats the couch adjacent to his desk before spinning his swivel chair and taking a seat. Which he straddles, the back of the chair snuggled up to his chest while his fingers begin punching at his keyboard.</p><p>You uh, take your seat.  Eyes darting around the room, you struggle to not curl around your purse as you study your surroundings because holy shit, you need an exit strategy if this dude turns out to be a psycho.</p><p>Groan...ughhhh, this puts a nervous energy into your legs and it’s hard to not let your knee bounce around. Okay. Here’s the deal. Pan’s kinda weird so far but you <em> need </em>a job. Trust me. The last thing you want is your Mom hounding on your ass about not having the money for your part on the bills. </p><p>Now that your eyes have adjusted to the room you need to hunt around for something to talk about with the dude. Some common ground. Make yourself relatable, ya know? Previously, your relationship with your employer was pretty good! Pretty good meaning you did your job and got paid but let’s not talk about some of the underhanded stuff you did for your old boss because editing payroll and cutting hours from people who legitimately worked those hours….</p><p>Shhh. </p><p>Pan shimmies his shoulders as he continues to hum. While one hand works across his keyboard the other he reaches over to flip on his printer. Skirting around his printer and weaving through his monitors, down and to the floor and into holes in the paneling you take note of...wow. Those are a <em> lot </em>of wires.</p><p>...Just what does he do, anyways? </p><p>Never mind. You just caught a glimpse of something you know you can start a conversation about.</p><p>You crack a smile.</p><p>There’s an iron weapon rack mounted over the flat screen T.V. across from you. And on that weapon rack? There’s a gun. A single gun. A rifle, in fact. And just underneath that rifle's leather strap sits a red box of ammunition. Wanna know something cool? You already know it's 7.92x57mm. Yeah, that’s right.</p><p>That gun is unmistakably a Fall 42 and god help you if you actually ever try to pronounce it’s actual name out loud. That bad boy was one of your favorite guns to use in Slay All Monsters; Hitler's resurgence. </p><p>That game was the tits.</p><p>Only Pan’s rifle seems a bit...different. The wooden stock has some really pretty stencil work engraved into it. All aureate and molten gold with filigree detailed into the grooves. The barrel’s really caught your eye, cause it’s absurdly glossy which makes you think that he probably polishes it on a regular basis. In addition, it just kinda seems darker all around. Rather than your standard burnished metal, Pan’s gun looks a few shades darker and shines like a wet river stone. The iron sights also sit higher than the average Fall 42, and if you squint you think can catch where they’ve been rimmed in silver.</p><p>Dammmn. That thing must have cost a small country! And if you recall correctly? There was some pretty nifty information on that gun from the weapons scorecard in game. Slay All Monsters; Hitler’s Resurgence was one of those games that if you killed enough enemies stuff would unlock for you to read. So after killing like, a thousand zombies because fuck zombies, you got to read that Germany only produced about two thousand of the first wave of the Fall 42. And that one sitting pretty above Pan's television?</p><p>That one is undoubtedly special. And it’s freakin' <em> cool. </em></p><p>"Heyy," You pipe up. “Is...is that a Fall 42, by chance?”</p><p>The clicking of keys stops as Pan snaps to face you. He blinks a few times before becoming consumed with a smile. "Ja, that it is! Most observant! I would ask that you indulge me but for a moment. Ah! The curiosity in me is unbearable! Liebling! I am positively itching to pluck the information from your mind upon how you came to such a conclusion, for you see, the weapon in question is quite scarce. Prithee, do tell."</p><p>"Uhhh, video games," You huff a laugh. "The fall was my go to in a favorite game of mine."</p><p>"Ah! I see, I see! Truly, you have exquisite taste in your selection of ordinance."</p><p>Standing himself up, Pan stretches with a yawn, hands high in the air as he dances his fingers. He shoots you a grin and wobble of his brows before retrieving his gun, looping the strap over his neck and shoulders before plopping back down into his office chair.</p><p>"I obtained this gem a few years prior," Pan folds one leg over the other, boot waving around as he snaps the gun up to his chest. "You see, my dear, I procured this from an online auction house. Invite only, might I add. Upon confirmation of the knowledge that it was in fact handcrafted by Krieghoff rather than mass produced I simply had to have it!"</p><p>You glance between Pan and his gun. "Uhh, Kreegof?" </p><p>"Heinrich Krieghoff Waffenfabrik,” Pan chuckles. “The state of the art manufacturers of this very Fallschirmjägergewehr 42 before your lovely eyes."</p><p>"Oh my god,” You giggle as you lean back into the couch. “If I uh, tried to say any of that I'd butcher it. So you’re German, yeah?"</p><p>Pan waggles his eyebrows. "What gave me away? Could it be my debonair ensemble? My dashing blue eyes? My glorious accent?!"</p><p>No. Don’t flirt with the crazy man.</p><p>"Ummm, all of the above..?" A cheesy grin splits your face open.</p><p>Pan’s smile falters. His expression twists with confusion, and it's like he’s got a buffer wheel turning over his nose as he holds his gun a little bit tighter. Uhhh…. Did you break him? </p><p>A blush paints Pan’s face as he sits back. He looks down at his weapon with a thoughtful smile before scratching a finger nail at the stock. "Hahaha...haha..You are far too kind, liebling." </p><p>Pan’s gaze meets yours, and he’s all hooded eyelids and pink cheeks. Your heart skips a beat.</p><p>He’s...um, really cute. His features are all sharp, yet his jaw is soft and a bit more rounded out. His eyes are also pretty, they’re a pale shade of blue, like the sky fell and got trapped in him. </p><p>That and the way he smiles? It makes you want to smile. </p><p>"I-It's really cool!" You blurt out. "The, the gun! The Fall, I mean! Yeah, yeahh!"</p><p>Nice one.</p><p>Pan rubs the back of his neck as he chuckles, "M-Might I ask if you happen to possess any firearms?"</p><p>"Me? Oh, Oh no. Haha, I've never even held a gun to be honest with you. I mean, I think they're great, don’t get me wrong, I’ve just nev--"</p><p>"Would it tickle your fancy to hold this one?"</p><p>"R-really? Y-You're sure??” Tossing your purse to the side, you ignore whatever just fell out, you’ll grab it later, cause right now you’re like white on rice to get your hands on that gun. </p><p>Pan rises to his feet. "Haha! Certainly so! I do not mind so long as you are careful." </p><p>You join Pan in standing, hesitation pricking at your mind and delivering a nervous energy to your fingertips as he gestures for you to turn your back to him. Gulping, you glance towards his door before offering up a kind smile and accepting the situation for what it is. </p><p>It’ll be cool to hold an actual gun for once--?!</p><p>With a sharp inhale, your eyes bulge as Pan lifts the rifle up and over your head, looping the strap around your neck and shoulders while adjusting it accordingly. However, that’s not the startling part. No, that’s fine. What has your blood rushing is the fact that he’s got his body pressed up against yours. <em> Holy shit he’s so close. </em>Y-You can feel him breathing..</p><p>Little fireworks go off down your arms as Pan clasps one hand on your bicep and another on his gun. It’s now that you take notice of how cold it is in here, because w-wow, he’s so warm..</p><p>Why does this feel so nice?</p><p>"Like this, Geliebte," Pan secures the Fall’s stock just under your shoulder. You’re a little clumsy and unsure of how to hold this thing, but fortunately Pan doesn’t seem to mind showing you the ropes. He aids you in placing your hands appropriately, positioning one under the barrel and the other just out of reach of the trigger. </p><p>"Now then! Lesson number one! Take note that we do not point this at anyone unless we intend to deliver them to an early grave."</p><p>"But it's not loaded, is it?" You ask while admiring the level of detail that’s been put into this thing. Damn, it’s so pretty. Everything is so shimmery and well polished. In addition, it’s also a lot heavier than you had originally anticipated and you’re glad to have Pan helping you hold it upright.</p><p>"Mademoiselle, always assume that a firearm is loaded," Pan slides a finger to the tip of the barrel and presses down. "Mm. This weapon before you is not loaded, nein. Alas, I find it most appropriate to consistently err on the side of caution as do others that enjoy collecting such relics of history."</p><p>"Kay," You free a breathy whisper while attempting to peer down the sights. Pan raises the muzzle back up with the lift of a finger so that you can. Mouthing a soft <em> thanks</em>, you move to swipe the bit of hair spilling into your face out of the way. Instead, a sharp inhale floods your lungs as Pan sweeps your hair back for you and tucks it behind your ear.</p><p>“Ah! Much better, ja?” Pan chuckles.</p><p>It feels like a freakin’ phantom has kissed your neck. All you can do is gulp and nod your head in response. </p><p>Ever since you stepped foot in Pan’s apartment there’s been a trace of frayed wires burning the air. Like when a play station overheats or when a television blows a fuse and sparks out. However, now? With how close he is? All...all you can smell is him.</p><p>Oh no...psycho is cute <em> and </em> he smells good..</p><p>Pan smells like fabric softener and an antique shop that burns cones of incense on foggy mornings. Sandalwood, if you could place your thumb on it. It’s nice. <em> Really nice. </em> Sharp and woodsy, but he’s not overwhelming. More akin to spiced soap bubbles, if anything.</p><p>Your eyelids flutter. A pool of warmth nestles in your stomach as Pan glides a hand down your arm. Face taken with a blush, you stammer, "Th-this, um, this thing is wicked! Ya know, it’s uh, it's one thing to use it in a game but to actually hold it for real? It's really awesome!”</p><p>You look up at him from over your shoulder and smile. “Thanks a bunch!”</p><p>"Ohhh, you are most assuredly welcome! Haha! Why, it should be understood that it is not often that I am fortunate enough to come across one such as yourself that can truly appreciate the finesse in such a fine piece of craftsmanship." </p><p>Tucking your head down, you do what you can to aid Pan in retrieving his gun. Which means you pretty much stand there as he lifts it back over your head. With the gun now in his possession, Pan turns to put it away, leaving you to hug your arms in the absence of his warmth.</p><p>A smile tickles at your lips as you watch him fit the Fall back onto the weapon rack. He’s...he’s not so bad. </p><p>"Fantastisch!” Pan’s coat twirls around him as he spins on a heel to face you. “Marvelous, if I do say so myself! Meine schone blume, I believe you and I shall get along quite swimmingly." </p><p>You give Pan a sharp nod and another smile while you fumble a hand back to pat the couch for your purse. When your fingers graze your portfolio you slip it out and reach it towards Pan. Hope colors your eyes as he accepts it. </p><p>“You asked me to bring this for you?"</p><p>"Correct you are! Ah, Danke liebling, now, let us see what talent lies beneath this very folder. I sincerely hope that I am not disappointed!" </p><p>Yeah. Your shoulders tighten. You hope he’s not, either.</p><p>Once content with flipping through the pages of your portfolio Pan slaps it against his desk with a hearty <em> whap</em>. He resumes his obscure choice of seating as he once again straddles his swivel chair. With a flick of his wrist and a few taps on his keyboard Pan's printer whirs to life and spits out a single piece of paper. Pan keeps his eyes on you, and oh god, that smile he’s wearing is so freakin’ unsettling as he pinches the freshly printed document between two fingers and lays it to rest, face down, over his keyboard.</p><p>Pan tilts so far forward your direction that he’s practically standing over sitting. His chair’s on its back wheels as he laughs a laugh that fills the entirety of his apartment.</p><p>"Would it be to your fancy to come to an understanding as to just what I will be having you perform for me?” Pan leans impossibly further forward as a smirk obscures his face. “My soon to be accomplice?"</p><p>Gulping, you take your time as you glance between Pan and his doorway.</p><p>You...you nod your head with a wince.</p><p>Psycho. Psycho comes to mind once again.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> Man, I wonder who wrote that part with Demiurge and Mira? Ahhh, I kid! That was Kensalyn! Thank you so much biffle for guest writing a part of this chapter! And I can't wait to do the same for you. Hmm, I wonder. Which story will it be in, though? 😏

</sub></p><p>
  <sub> Ya'll can't comprehend how much I love human Pandora's Actor. 😂 Oh, sorry. ✨ Pan Darsteller. ✨ I love him so much. So much that when Kensalyn and I roleplay the family (Demiurge/Mira and Pan/Holly) if any angst centers around his character I just can't. It hurts so bad. <i> Ohhhh but trust me we've done it. </i> 😂😭</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Megalomaniac</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub>  Your new boss is a criminal. Which makes you a criminal. Congratulations.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter three<br/></sub>
</p><p>𝘔𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘢𝘤</p><hr/><p> </p><p>"...You wanna hire me to do <em> what, </em> now?" </p><p>By aid of his many computer monitors, Pan's eyes are shining bright. He smiles all the wider as you grapple with the situation presented before you like a slippery bar of soap in a bathtub. </p><p>...You would’ve never shown up for this damn interview if you’d known what you know now.</p><p>"It is within my favor to make you my assistant and have you exercise what you do best," Pan lifts a finger into the air, twirling it around as if he were spinning cotton candy. "The artful way in which you bend reality to suit your will. Manipulation! The very strategy of deceptive control! Ah, we are quite alike in that regard, my dear."</p><p>"Get your facts straight. What you do versus what I do? No. I make people pretty and can edit word documents, but you? You’re nuts. A bowl of nuts, actually. I mean, holy shit, you...you mess with stock exchanges for crying out loud!”  You throw your hand his way, palm turned up as a means of telling this dude no thanks, he’s nuts, and in response? Pan chuckles and claps his hand against yours in a damn high five.</p><p>You yank your hand back. “We are nothing alike."</p><p>"And yet! Upon the grandest of schemes of things, do we not conduct the same set of skills?!" Pan reaches back to grab your portfolio. He then proceeds to pluck different images out and dance them in the air as they flap about. "Understand that you modify digital information juuust as I do. Our aptitudes may be different, ja! And yet, still it is within the technique of deceit that you find yourself in my treasure box."</p><p>"I'm here," You’re starting to sweat. "I'm here because I wanted a job, not to become some criminal by proxy."</p><p>"I prefer...alternative employment. Besides! Come now, liebling! It is only a crime if unearthed," Pan tosses your portfolio back onto his desk before tugging at his tie in adjustment. "And I have not been discovered in over twenty years! Why, I am not even on the radar for suspicion!”</p><p>"...Why are you telling me all of this?” Your face screws up. “I could turn you in, ya know. I should turn you in!" </p><p>"Oh? Haha! Well then, My dearest Holly. It should be noted that you were already my co conspirator the moment you stepped foot into my domain."</p><p>"And just what do you think you mean by that?" </p><p>Pan takes his time on a lengthy sigh as he reaches up to adjust his hat. For some reason he tilts the steel tipped bill of his cap down so that his eyes are covered.</p><p>And then he smirks.</p><p>"Tell me, Fräulein. Do the numbers six-one-eight, four-two, and oh, hmm...let us say...seven-one-one-four mean anything to you?”</p><p>"...Umm..?" You recite the numbers over in your head a few times. Nothing comes to mind. Wait, maybe Bingo numbers? The fuck? Like you give a shi--...and then it hits. <em> Oh my god. </em> It hits you like a freakin’ freight train.</p><p>Your blood runs cold, and it kinda feels like your soul is trying to rush out of your body. </p><p>Pan pushes his cap back up and dances his eyebrows. "Shall I continue?”</p><p>"I-I,” You rasp. “I get it, I-I get it.”</p><p>“Oh?” Pan purses his lips as he pretends to pout. “How you spoil my fun.”</p><p>You release a shaky exhale. Th-That’s...that’s what he was doing earlier. It’s all starting to come to you. While you were hunting around his room for something to talk about with him? Pan was doing his homework. How…? Oh god, does his door have some inbuilt facial recognition type stuff? Is that even a thing?!</p><p>How did he get your social?! What else does he have?! Is that what all of those wires are for?!</p><p>Ohhhhh my god, he’s not just a psycho. Pan is a <em> supreme </em> psycho.</p><p>"Why,” You squeak. “Why me?" </p><p>"Truly, it is fate! Ah, as soon as my eyes fell upon the delicate yet refractory composition of your resume lighting up my inbox?" To add insult to injury, Pan grasps his mouse and with a click that echoes through his apartment your resume pops up onto <em> all </em>of his monitors. A wince takes your face. Great. Just great. There it is, mocking you in all of it’s stupid fancy red and gold glory. </p><p>You’re screwed. </p><p>"It is indubitably rare to recover such a sense of character in the business world," Pan sighs romantically as he removes his cap. In doing this he reveals an absence of hair, he’s totally bald, and you’d laugh if you weren’t fighting back <em> oh fuck how do I get outta here </em> cause it kinda looks like he waxes his head. </p><p>Pan flutters his cap with a flourish of his hand just inches from the tip of your nose.</p><p>"..And you? Why, young lady! You are what I desire in an individual. Tell me, did you not want to be recognized among the masses? It is to my understanding that you did!" Without breaking eye contact, Pan swings his cap to his computer monitor and allows for the stiff bill to clack against the screen. "Haha! I most certainly know zeal when I see it."</p><p>"I-I...I just...j-just wanted a job." </p><p>"And a job you have secured!" </p><p>"How do you,” A pregnant pause stretches by. “...How can you even trust me this quickly? How do you know I won't just say, Sure Pan! I’ll work for you! Sounds great! And then bounce and make a break for the cops?”</p><p>"Call it intuition and mutually assured annihilation. Wellll...perhaps mutual is an unfair declaration. However, I do not favor in dealing with unsavory extortion unless positively necessary.”</p><p> "...You're a psycho." </p><p>"Most geniuses of my caliber do show forms of lunacy," Pan ponders. Stroking his chin, he resumes, "I suppose I am no exception to that rule." </p><p>"Look<em>, please, </em>I-I," You glance between Pan and his doorway. "I don't wanna take any part in this. I won't say anything, I swear! Kay? I-I just wanna go."</p><p>"Oh?" Pan’s shoulders slump. "My dear, the drama that has stolen your face is absolutely heartbreaking. Why, do not look so despondent! You have been found, young lady! Not lost! Furthermore, True to theatrical nature, I always make certain to save the best for last. After all, you have yet to review my proposal."</p><p>Pan pinches his fingers around the sheet of paper resting across his keyboard. With a flick of his wrist, Pan straightens the document out, freeing it of any imperfections before attempting to lay it across your knee. Yeah, no. You press the crazy man’s contract away.</p><p>"There’s nothing that’s gonna---"</p><p>"I insist, Holly. Do give it a wee gander, if you would be so kind."</p><p>"I said I don't---" You turn the paper over with a scowl. Ugh! <em> Fine. </em> Bunch of freakin’ nonsense and before you can say more you just stop.</p><p>You just stop.</p><p>Your expression blanks.</p><p>Is that…</p><p>...does that actually say?!</p><p>Cha-<em> ching. </em></p><p>You shove the paper back into your lap, face down, fighting your eyes away as if you had instead just been caught looking at some hardcore porn over triple your old salary. It’s also stated that the number you just gawked at? That’s uh, just the start of it. Looks like Pan’s a quarterly bonus kinda guy if you do your job right.</p><p>You chew on your cheek.</p><p>This won’t exactly make you rich but damn it all if it won’t make life a helluva lot nicer.</p><p>Everyone has a price.</p><p>..and you’re no exception.</p><p>After all, you do need a job. You said so yourself.</p><p>Right?</p><p>"Ummm..." Your eyes hover over Pan as he grips the back of his office chair, nearly rocking the damn thing back and forth as he giggles. </p><p>This dude…just giggled.</p><p>"As you were saying, Liebling?"</p><p>"Do you...do you have a pen?" God damn it, this is the worst shit eating grin you’ve ever had plastered across your face.</p><p>His is worse.</p><p>"Haha! Indeed! In fact, I have one right here! Funny you should ask," Slipping a hand into his breast pocket, Pan reveals a sleek office pen that he then ripples over his fingers. As he offers you said pen he slaps his hat atop your head and wiggles it on tight with a chuckle.</p><p>Your cheeks are burning, and as you pop the cap off of Pan’s pen to sign your name you come to an understanding that you’ve played into every trap he set for you. Hook, line, and sinker.</p><p>Yep. You’re screwed.</p><p>Against your better judgement, you scratch the pen against Pan’s contract and sign your name. </p><p>Golden ink spelling your name in cursive says you’ve just forked your soul over to the psycho. </p><p>"Sooo...you um, well. You want me to edit stuff right? Yeah, I uh...yeahhh. I'm good at that stuff. Not too shabby." </p><p>"You are correct in that assumption, my brand new assistant! Ahaha! I cannot thank you enough, sincerely! Now then, I have already taken the liberty of preparing an encrypted flash drive with what I require from you starting on out. Simply allow time for installation and read my instructions."</p><p>"You're uh, good with tech? Why do you need me?" You ask as he hands you the flash drive. A wince steals your face as you fight to tuck it away into your slacks pocket.</p><p>Damn chubby thighs.</p><p>"I very well and could procure the time to educate myself on how to exploit such media in the way you do, indeed, that is true. Alas! Time is money and money, as they say, in turn, is time. Outside of my ample playground on NASDAQ's metaphorical front yard, I additionally handle a lucrative clientele consisting of both, well, haha, let us just say the masses are filled with colorful individuals."</p><p>"...Colorful individuals?" </p><p>"Jaja, the world at large is positively ripe with heroes and feral with villains. Consequently, they allll require someone to call their friend,” Pan smirks as he graces a hand across his chest. “I, my dear. I am that cherished friend."</p><p>You narrow your eyes. "...and now you’re in need of a friend."</p><p>"Ohhh! Wunderbar! Now you are catching on, young lady. That is certainly the case! It is also worth noting that I have admittedly performed solo for as long as I can remember. Upon suggestion from a treasured colleague, I figured it might be a tad refreshing to take on an apprentice.”</p><p>"Don't you mean an accomplice." You sneer.</p><p>"Hmhmhmhm! Protege, partner, accomplice, comrade, meine blume, and more with noble hope!" Pan lights up as he leaps up and out of his seat. Thrusting a palm up to his heart as he bends in a bow, Pan extends an arm your way, fingers curling towards himself as he gestures for you to take his hand.</p><p>Just as you place your hand in his you flinch. Upon closer examination, Pan’s hands are kinda freaky looking. His fingers are unnaturally thin and he’s actually missing a pinkie--Oh, okay, wow, nice. This is so rude, you’re staring! Face taken with a wince, and not gonna lie, you’re feelin’ pretty sheepish as you look up and into Pan’s eyes to try to form some type of an apology--</p><p>"It is but a birth defect,” Pan breathes. “A minor case Arachnodactyl. Nothing to be fearful of, my dear. I promise I am actually quite harmless outside of the dark web." </p><p>"My bad, I-I didn't mean to--"</p><p>"Think nothing of it." Pan closes his hand around yours. You look down at his fingers once again, but this time it’s not in noticing that he’s missing one. No, it’s not that.  It’s...it’s that his palms are sweaty and there’s a slight tremble to him. </p><p>For a moment, something warm tickles your heart. Is he just being so much because he’s nervous? Maybe, maybe he isn’t so bad. There’s just something about him. He does have a really kind and inviting smile. Ya know, the one that’s softening his face right now and almost has you forgetting that he's a complete <em> fucking psycho. </em></p><p>After you’ve gathered up your purse Pan offers to escort you out and although you say a firm <em> No, no thank you? </em>Yeahh. Nice try. You already know you’re not getting away that easily. Curiously enough he halts at the elevator, pressing the call button for you, but not entering the doors with you. Huh. He kinda struck you as the type of guy to walk you out to your car. Oh well. No skin off your bones.</p><p>Pan brings his hands up to his chest as his fingers dance against each other. He almost kinda looks like a child lost in a grocery store as he keeps trading his attention between you and his apartment.</p><p>"You uh...you okay?" You almost reach a hand towards his forearm. However, you stop at the last minute and adjust the strap on your purse instead.</p><p>No, he’s crazy. Don’t do that.</p><p>"In-Indeed! I-I am! I am well! Could not be better, in fact! Haha! Haha...haha...A-Auf Wiedersehen! Until our next fated encounter!”  Pan lifts his hat from atop your head, freeing a mess of curls that tumble forward and spill into your face as he fits it back over his own head. Pfffft. He then pats the top of your hair, much to your annoyance, before dashing away and back to his apartment, coat flapping behind him all the while.</p><p>Um...Okay then.</p><p>So that happened. </p><p>"..What on <em> Earth </em> did I just get myself into," Pushing your finger against the tattle for the lobby, you let out a groan. As soon as the doors slide shut you reach down to take off your high heels because your feet are freakin’ killing you.</p><p>Your purse is noticeably lighter without your portfolio so you sneak your stilettos inside. The drive home sucks barefoot buuuut it’s better than wearing those evil things any longer.</p><p>
  <em> Yeet! </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Seriously! Oh my god, what did you just get yourself into?!</p><p>Your computer is practically chugging peanut butter as it struggles with the <em> thirteen hour </em> download of all of Pan's bullshit that needs, well, you don’t know <em> what </em> yet. That’s gonna have to wait until morning.</p><p>Ugh. Your computer fans are working overtime and it kinda sounds like the damn thing is gonna fly off like a helicopter at any moment. Whatever. You peel off your clothes, slip into some pajamas, nab your headphones, and roll into bed.</p><p>Squinting, you fiddle with your phone as your eyes adjust to the contrast of how bright this thing is versus how dark your room is. Damn. Sigh, it’s at twelve percent and your charger is who knows where. Mph, lazy. You don’t wanna get up and twelve percent should get you through a review or two on this game that’s coming out. Something about Zombies and grenade launchers.</p><p>Fuck yeah.</p><p>If it’s any good you’re totally gonna buy it with your first paycheck from Pan.</p><p>...Pan.</p><p>You fall asleep before the video can get into the good stuff about the game. Shortly afterwards, your phone rolls off your bed. Just before you’re gone to the world, though? Mmm. A soft sigh parts your lips as you snuggle into your pillow. Did Mom wash your sheets? They smell so good, like laundry soap and sandalwood..</p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> Ya'll ready for the big corny? I like to think the reason why Holly smells that little tease of sandalwood and laundry soap before she falls asleep is because <i> her </i> double, back in CoJ, is cuddled up next to Pandora's Actor. ;-; I mean, there's a reason why I named this story Across the Universe.

</sub></p><p>
  <sub> I'm cheesy and I know it. 😎</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Glass slipper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> Pan has your sketch booooook.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter four<br/></sub>
</p><p>𝘎𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Pan falls back into his suede lounge, kicking his boots up and onto his swivel chair. Ahhh, the day has come to an end at last! Wunderbar! The remote to his left bounces up and he snatches it mid air.  Without looking he reaches a long arm over to his keyboard, types in a few command prompts, and his monitors cycle off for the night.</p><p>Surely he can indulge himself in a tad bit of recreational time, hm? Why, he has earned it if he does so say himself! After the day's successes of not only completing some rather dubious activities for some less than favorable characters and acquiring a new protege, he feels entitled to some time of luxury.</p><p>And what better than to treat himself than to enjoy ah, ja, a favored past time historical documentary on---!</p><p>
  <em> --Ohoho, what is this?! </em>
</p><p>Pan winces in discomfort, adjusting his seating at the feeling of something jabbing into his right thigh. No doubt a book, however, he does not recall leaving out any of his preferred reading material. The texture is unrecognizable and oddly flexible as he digs it out from under himself and the ever devouring pocket of his couch cushions. Unusual. Peculiarly thin as well and <em> Ach du lieber Gott! </em></p><p>With curious wonder Pan holds up the notebook covered in rhinestones and neon stickers that have bubbled with age. It does not take him long to realize just what happens to be in his grasp as he runs a finger over the worn spine of the booklet. </p><p>“Liebling!” Pan exclaims as he shakes the notebook. “Why, you have forgotten your diary!”</p><p>His eyes dance over Holly’s journal. Oh, what secrets may lie within! What dastardly deeds might his new accomplice have performed and admitted to within the safety of this very booklet!</p><p>Alas..</p><p>He sucks at his teeth as he, nein! He can not! He absolutely can not! A true gentleman would never invade a dame's privacy!</p><p>His shoulders slump as he folds forward, rotating the booklet in thought. Pan slants his eyes as he accusingly glares around the vast space of his front room.</p><p>Surely, not a soul would know...</p><p>A thought strikes him as he shoots back up, boots stomping on the ground, and it is as if a light bulb has sprung above his head. Of course! He shall forward her a text message! She can come and retrieve her forgotten diary and he will not have to bear the thought of disrespecting her secrecy!</p><p>Alas, but oh, how he yearns to steal a single peek inside!</p><p>Mhmhm. Well! His mind has been made up! Decision settled! Haha! He is going to shoot her a text! While she did not provide him with her number under conventional methods… </p><p>He owns it.</p><p>Pan hums to himself as he fishes his phone from his coat pocket, finger swiping over the lock screen and-- what's this?! Midnight?! Drat! He may not message her this late! He is a man of courtesy, after all.</p><p>Pan slaps Holly’s diary face down onto his couch, palm pressing atop the smooth back. He tosses his head back and his free hand grips at his chest. </p><p>“How do I find myself in such a treasonous situation to my very morals?!” Pan monologues. ”To look or not to look, that is the question of the midnight hour!”</p><p>…She would not have to know <em> per se’</em>. Yet he would know! Pan places a finger over his lips in thought, eyes darting between his hand atop her diary and nowhere in particular. His mind races.</p><p>Social security numbers and bank account information are enjoyable crumbs of data to collect, no doubt, alas… what might her favorite color be? Genre of music? What other weapons might she have a preference for? She undeniably has refined tastes such as his…</p><p>Pan opens and closes the back cover as he keeps his prying eyes away. His face tightens. It is through chance alone, he is sure, that he stumbled across a talented apprentice that duos as a pretty young lady. A sappy smile forms under his finger as he can still feel her auburn hair tickling his chin as he adjusts the strap of his rifle over her shoulders. And oh, the very thought of her smile as she peeked down his iron sights?</p><p>Charming!</p><p>Furthermore, she was warm. Delightfully so. A direct contrast to the necessary frigid climate of his apartment thanks to his many gadgets and gizmos. </p><p>Pan turns his attention back to Holly’s journal. <em>Had it truly ever left?</em> He leers around his room again, sappy smile curving crooked. If it just so happened to open on accident and if purely by coincidence he saw a page it would not be betraying her or his code of honor…</p><p>Pan gulps. He agonizingly, yet slowly, begins to drag his wrist in slow movements against Holly’s diary. He whistles a non incriminating tune, looking away, as the booklet inches closer...closer...closer…</p><p>Holly’s diary falls to the ground with a soft thump and a flap of pages.</p><p>Such a travesty!</p><p>Pan grins something wicked. He claps his hands on his knees, body snapping forward, eyes homing in on the sprawled and exposed pages of the journal upon his floor.</p><p>...And then his maniacal expression softens considerably. His lips part to sharply allow in a bit of air as he reaches ahead, finger ghosting over the image below.</p><p>This is not a diary. </p><p>Why, it is an art book!</p><p>She is an artist!</p><p>“Ohhh <em>geliebte</em>,” Pan breathes.</p><p>He brings the sketch book into his lap, trailing a nail over the delicate yet deliberate lines of a serpent consuming its own tail. The image is riddled with charcoal smudges yet the picture is still clear. Perhaps this is an older piece? Without thought, Pan makes his way through the other illustrations. With each page he turns he can see a story. Every scratch, smudge, and eraser mark only add to the tale he builds in his mind.</p><p>Dolphins in space. How charming! Topsy turvy hot air balloons and pirate ships with butterfly sails…</p><p>Pan smiles to himself. She's rather whimsical, isn't she?</p><p>Forsaking the documentary he had set himself up for, Pan spends the rest of his night thumbing through Holly’s artwork. He forfeits retiring to his bedroom, favoring his position here, chest rising and falling while he keeps a hand on her sketch pad.  </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>You glance around your messy bedroom. Bookshelves cluttered with old DVD cases, video games, and various knick knacks stare back. There’s also your T.V., a little dude sitting on top of your dresser. You avoid looking at that, though. Don’t wanna see your reflection right now. Ugh, probably look like Cousin It.</p><p>Yawn. Eyeing a laundry basket in the corner overflowing with clean clothes, you figure it’s probably time to get dressed. Well, as clean as clean gets. If you’ve only worn something twice it still counts as clean, right?</p><p>You rub at your eyes as light floods in through your window blinds. Ugh, what time is it? Another yawn. You fumble around for your phone. Can’t find it. Probably on the floor. Damn thing. Must’ve bounced off of your bed.</p><p>You kick off your comforter. Time to play a game of <em> where did my phone go this time. </em>Throwing a hand over the side of your bed, you use it like a claw crane in search of a prize.</p><p>You pick up a fork. Not your phone. You toss it back under your bed.</p><p>You grab something long, slender, and smooth that’s still vibrating with a dull buzz. Oh! Oh well, uh, that’s definitely not your phone. Oops. You turn it off and set it to the side. Probably gonna use it later.</p><p>You finger a few energy drink cans, a pair of underwear, and some colored pencils under your bed while searching. Hopefully the monster that wants to eat your feet at night when you don’t cover them will enjoy some trash. There ya go, buddy! Eat up.</p><p>
  <em> Nomnomnom. </em>
</p><p>Aha! Found your phone. You snatch it up, fingers closing around the wallet like case. It was an impulse purchase you made a few months back. One of those online binge shopping sprees to make yourself feel better.</p><p> Cute little thing, really. Dusted with silver leaf and engraved with an oak tree that has petite blue rhinestones for leaves. Unfortunately the shimmer has begun to fade, but hey, you still think it’s pretty rad.</p><p>You swipe a thumb over your screen. Lifting a brow, you take notice of an unread message loaded with emotes. All roses and hearts. You don’t recognize the number. Ugh. Looks like one of those texts that you get every so often from a rival phone service provider. Switch for this offer! Hurry now before it is too late! Save big!</p><p>Go away.</p><p>You ignore the text and glance towards the time Oh. It is uh, yeah. It’s a quarter past eleven in the morning. Time to get out of bed.</p><p> Rise and shine!</p><p>...More like roll out and flop. Eh. Raising your arms high in a stretch, you roar a yawn before plopping down into your desk chair. Time to plug in your phone since it’s living on a prayer. And it’s not even halfway there. It’s at like, 1%. Maybe.</p><p>You shake your mouse, give it a few clicks, and wake your computer up from sleep mode. The fans whir. Yeah, yeah. Looks like you’re not the only one who isn’t a morning person.</p><p>There’s a message hovering above your taskbar. <em> Download complete.  </em></p><p>...Oh yeah. </p><p>You have a new job.</p><p>New job. With Pan.</p><p>The psycho. Pan the psycho. </p><p>Well shit.</p><p>You groan with the memory of yesterday mocking your mind. Ya know, you never planned to be a criminal? You know that, right?</p><p> But here you are!  Look at you!</p><p>Hey, at least he’s gonna pay well. And to top it all off, Pan says he hasn’t been caught in over twenty years. And, yeah, he seems smart enough to pull off a stunt like that. So...</p><p>...You should be fine, right?</p><p>Right…</p><p>Your computer blares a warning message. Looks like someone wants an update they’re not gonna get. So you ignore it. Not right now, later. You need to open this folder and see all that Pan has in store for you--</p><p>Oh my god. Your computer hesitates for a moment while all the files load in. Talk about lag, damn. </p><p>You lean forward, squinting your eyes as your monitor bathes your face in light. Yeahh. There’s a lot. The little scrolling dude to your right is thinner than a fingernail.</p><p>You spend the next hour giving his instructions a thorough scan. From what you’ve gathered, he wants you to switch some names around (and remove a few) starting out. Leave no trace. Alright, done and done. </p><p>Just ignore that these are legal binding documents. Don’t read them. Just swap the names. <em> Just swap the names. </em></p><p>An oily shudder slides down your spine. You look around your room, shoulders tucked forward.</p><p>You’re so busted if you ever get caught for doing this.</p><p>And yet…</p><p>You’d rather work for Pan than at some fast food joint, ya know? At least you can do this from the comfort of your own home. And it’s something you’re good at. Also? The smell of old fry grease and you don’t mix well. Makes you wanna puke.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Soooo whoever is spamming you with emotes isn’t letting up. Persistent as hell. It’s now minutes past three in the afternoon and they’ve been blasting your phone with a message each hour on the hour. Dude, what gives?</p><p>No, you don’t wanna change services or buy whatever! Go away! Shoo!</p><p>Well, it’s time for a break in any case. You save your work and the stuff in progress. Responsively, your computer’s asthmatic CPU struggles to rasterize layers and flatten images as you fiddle about with your phone. Maybe this company has a text back 4444 or some code to make this shit stop?</p><p>Time to open up one of these messages and find out--</p><p>…</p><p>You stare up at your ceiling, the color draining from your face.</p><p>Time to ask the monster under your bed if he’s got room for one more. Yep.</p><p>You wanna die. Crawl under your bed and die.</p><p>Those messages aren’t from someone trying to sell you something.</p><p>They’re from your boss.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>🌺 🌺🌺❤️❤️❤️ 🌹🌹🌹 ❤️❤️❤️ 🌷🌷🌷</p><p>𝘎𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘔𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯, 𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘺! </p><p> 𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥. 𝘜𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬. 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳! 𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵! 𝘙𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦. 𝘈𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘫𝘢! 𝘔𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘶𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯! 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦 ✨ 8894 ✨ 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴! 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 5:30pm?</p><p>🌺 🌺🌺❤️❤️❤️ 🌹🌹🌹 ❤️❤️❤️ 🌷🌷🌷</p><p>
  <sub><sub>𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 3:07𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>God is dead.</p><p>He has your sketchbook.</p><p>But how..?!</p><p>..Wait a minute.</p><p>Your head falls back with a groan. Did it fall out of your purse? Is that why it felt so light last night?</p><p>Good job. You just gave him more ammunition to blackmail you with. </p><p>...The message is sweet, though. After checking the others you can say the same about them. </p><p>You blow a sigh through your lips, thumb hovering over the reply button. </p><p>Why are you nervous?</p><p> </p><p>𝘏𝘦𝘺𝘺𝘺, 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘩, 𝘩𝘢𝘩𝘢 𝘐 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘥. 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦, 𝘐 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘧𝘧. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘪𝘵. 😎</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘵 3:09𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p>Annnnd send.</p><p>Phew. Feels like you can breathe again.</p><p>Okay. </p><p>Shuffling your clothes on, you forsake socks as you slip your feet into some sneakers. You wiggle your big toe that sticks out a bit, a smirk tickling at your lips. Man, your mom hates these things. She’s been begging you to let her buy you some new ones. </p><p>Nah. You like that they bug her.</p><p>Teehee.</p><p>Annnd as expected when you check your phone Pan’s already messaged you back. Damn. Dude’s like lightning. </p><p>You head out to your car with a cocaine hankering for some caffeine. Seriously, your teeth are itching. What? It’s not like you’re an addict or anything. There are worse vices to have. That and.. you’ve got a feeling you’re gonna need some coffee for this.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> Pan Darsteller, everyone. A man that struggled with invading Holly's privacy via what he believed to be her diary yet he was happy to dig into her personal information and use it against her as blackmail.</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Quid pro quo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> Pan puts a lot of sugar in his coffee. You like that.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter five<br/></sub>
</p><p>𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘰</p><hr/><p> </p><p>While waiting at the drive thru line at the local coffee shop you pick at the fabric peeling from your steering wheel cover. All the while your engine hums, spits, and groans. </p><p>Ugh. You wipe the sweat from your brow. It’s hot. Like, don’t put that pizza roll in your mouth hot.</p><p>Doesn’t help that the lady in front of you is a total Karen. She’s taking forever to order.</p><p>Thank god you had enough of your wits about you to load up on enough deodorant. You might be sweating but at least you don’t smell like it.</p><p>A little bit later Karen finally pulls forward. </p><p>You take her place and roll down your window.</p><p>No, you don’t wanna try their promotional frappuccino with caramel and toffee pieces-- wait. Yes you do. That actually sounds really good.</p><p>Do you want whipped cream? Who do they think they’re talking too? Of course you do!</p><p>Do you want anything else?</p><p>Mm. You tap your fingers against your steering wheel.</p><p>...Ugh! Don’t do it.</p><p>Okay, here’s the deal.</p><p>It’d be rude to show up to his place and have something for you and not him. Also? This is a good chance to be a total kiss ass right off the bat and score some brownie points with him, so...</p><p>What does he like, though? Is he one of those fancy types that only drinks tea? Would he like a frappuccino? What if he hates coffee? Decisions, decisions…</p><p>The man behind you honks his horn. Dude, seriously?! </p><p>You honk back.</p><p>
  <em> Honk! </em>
</p><p>Ugh! Fine, whatever. Pan’s getting a house coffee. Resisting the urge to flip the bird to the man behind you, you pull forward, pay for your order, and take off for Gravestone way.</p><p>Whoever made your frappuccino made it right. It’s thick like wet cement so you don’t have to worry about it melting anytime soon. And Pan’s coffee should be good. Not like it’s gonna get cold when it’s hotter than the devil’s armpit outside.</p><p>With no traffic, your windows down, and a crows nest for hair, you make it to the apartment complex on GraveStone way entirely too early. </p><p>Oops.</p><p>Pan said five thirty but you’re sitting here just a little bit past four. What? You didn’t wanna be late. Last time you skid by on the skin of your teeth and barely made it on time. And while this is totally different…</p><p>Ugh. You’re here way too early.</p><p>You mix the whip cream with blended parts of your frap. Sluuuuurp. Well, you can sit here and sweat or you can message him and say you’re here early and would like to come up.</p><p>You fight back a whimper. Oh god, this is so awkward!</p><p>Retrieving your phone, you shoot Pan a text that you untype and retype more times than you’d like to admit. Hopefully he didn’t see those three little dots on his end doing their thing for the last ten minutes...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘏𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦! 𝘚𝘰𝘰 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺? 😎 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺, 𝘭𝘰𝘭. 𝘋𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘺?</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 4:07𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><h1>
  <b>  </b>
</h1><p>𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺?! 😮✨ 𝘞𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘳! 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘥𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯!</p><p>
  <sub>   <sub>𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 4:07𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p>𝘈𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴! 𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤.</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 4:08𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Well.</p><p>That wasn’t so bad. </p><p>Releasing the air in your lungs, you fumble with your car keys until you get them hooked on your belt loop. Time to get out of this hot box and get inside where it’s nice and cool.</p><p>So you do just that. After throwing a comb through your hair real quick. Gotta tame the beast.</p><p>Wait! Gotta grab Pan’s coffee.</p><p>Got it.</p><p>The sun beats down on your back as you walk across the parking lot, sucking on your drink the entire time. </p><p>Man.</p><p>You could seriously fry an egg out here.</p><p> A chipper <em> ding! </em>sounds off in welcome as you step inside. The cool tang of window cleaner hangs in the air. There’s a few maids scrubbing away at the walls, windows, and floor. Huh. Cleaning day, maybe?</p><p>Chills race through your blood in waves as the air conditioning washes over you. Ahhh. Good shit.</p><p>Repeating the pass code in your head, you make your way to the elevator. Ehhhh. You still wanna check your phone to make sure you’ve got it right. Placing Pan’s coffee in the crook of your forearm, you reach back to dig your phone out of your back pocket and then you just stop.</p><p>You just stop.</p><p>The elevator doors slide open before you. You suck so damn hard on your Frappuccino that you could slurp up a golf ball through the straw.</p><p>A single, grating <em> sluuuuuuuuurp </em> rings through the lobby.</p><p>It’s the two from yesterday. The scary man and his girlfriend. </p><p>
  <em> Record Scratch. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Freeze frame. </em>
</p><p>Yep. This is the worst.</p><p>Let’s take a moment to wonder how we got ourselves in this situation, shall we?</p><p>Oh yeah! </p><p>It’s because you didn’t hold the elevator doors open for them. And now they’re holding the door open for you. Ya know, cause you’re an asshole.</p><p>Are you standing in quicksand? Pretty sure you’re standing in quicksand. </p><p>Scary man clears his throat, tapping a sharp fingernail against the elevator door.</p><p>You shamble forward and try to not utter a sound. Keeping your head down, you select the tenth floor and quickly type in 8-9-4-4. God, please let them get off on the second floor or somethin’...</p><p>“Oh? Do you know Pan?” The color drains from your face as you turn to face the kind voice directed at you. </p><p>They know Pan. Because of course they do.</p><p>“Yeahhh. I uh, sorta work for him now,” You glue your eyes down to her shoes. “Look, I’m really sorry about yesterday. I was just in a hurry and didn’t wanna be late to my interview, ya know? And, it’s just, it’s just that I really needed a job and he said be on time and--”</p><p>“Oh geez, I mean, at first I thought it was kinda rude but I totally get it now! Don’t worry, it’s okay,” She says, a light air of laughter to her tone. “So, you work for Pan? That’s awesome! It’s nice to see him branching out.”</p><p>“Y-Yeah,” You look up to her face and wince. “I guess so.”</p><p>She smiles. “What’s your name?”</p><p>“Um, Holly. Yours?”</p><p>“Mira,” Mira touches the arm of the man beside her. “And this is Demiurge.”</p><p>“...Pleasure.” Demiurge responds.</p><p>“Nice to meet you guys,” You chew on your cheek. “So, uh, Pan. Yeah, is he cool? Cause, ya know…” </p><p>Regardless of how painful this is? Now’s your chance to get the scoop on Pan. If he’s crazy his neighbors are bound to know.</p><p>“Mr. Darsteller is nothing more than eccentric. Outside of his career, understand that he is for the most part innocuous,” Demiurge leans forward your way with an arched brow. “You are…uncomfortably familiar.”</p><p>Okay…</p><p>This dude is intense.</p><p>Maybe it’s not Pan that’s the crazy one.</p><p>You lean away from him, nose twitching with the urge to sneeze. He smells like smoke. It isn’t cigarette smoke though. He smells like actual fire. “Do you ever uh, frequent the local mall? I used to work there at the--”</p><p>“No.” Demiurge answers flatly. Mira rolls her eyes with an amused hum. </p><p><em> Ding! </em>The doors open up on the seventh floor. </p><p>“Well, this is our stop!” Mira announces. “It was nice to meet you. Will you tell Pan we said hi?”</p><p>Demiurge holds an arm forward, keeping the elevator open for Mira.</p><p>“Yeah! Sure,” You wave goodbye with your Frappuccino. “Uh, see ya around?”</p><p>“Maybe!” Mira waves back.</p><p>As the doors close Demiurge gives you a last look from over his shoulder before turning back to Mira.</p><p>Sweet jesus.</p><p>You furiously tap the button panel prompt for the doors to close. And you thought Pan was bad?! You’ll take your psycho boss over the resident demon man of the seventh floor any day of the week! Seriously! Mira was a total angel compared to his ass.</p><p>Once the elevator reaches the tenth floor you dart to Pan’s door in hopes of not having any more encounters.</p><p>...Who are you kidding? Pan in and of himself is an encounter. Anyways. Here we go. You give his door three knocks with the back of your hand while taking a sip off of your Frappuccino. Upon hearing the clinks of Pan unlocking his many deadbolts, you take a step back.</p><p>The door flies inward and Pan steps out with his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. He smiles, flashing you his teeth and bobbing his brows while motioning with his head for you to come in.</p><p>Your cheeks warm and you can’t help but giggle. His smile is infectious.  </p><p>You head on inside, leaning against the wall while he locks you in. Why does he need so many of those? </p><p>Well, considering what he does…</p><p>You uh, don’t know all that he does.</p><p>You take a sip off of your Frappuccino. <em> Sluuuuurp.  </em></p><p>Whoever Pan is talking with is starting to get louder. You can’t hear what they’re saying but the warbled voice echoing from his phone doesn’t sound happy. Not like you’d understand what they’re talking about anyways.</p><p>They’re speaking German.</p><p>Pan takes a few steps past you. Before you can follow him down his hallway Pan stops, his boot crinkling under the weight of his final step. The chirping on the other side of his phone grows louder.</p><p>You wince. God, phone calls like that suck. Maybe it’s a customer of his…?</p><p>Pan’s voice transforms into something best described as when your Dad finds out that you got bad grades on your progress report. It’s not the kind of mad you’d expect. It’s not loud.</p><p>It’s calm, but with a rumble of thunder. Like a warning.</p><p>You shrivel up against the wall.</p><p>Okay, good to know. Don’t make Pan mad.</p><p>Pan ends the phone call with a sigh. He stuffs his phone away into his coat pocket. “Vergib mir, Holly. I was simply tidying up a few loose business threads.”</p><p>“Is everything alright? You sounded kinda…ya know.”</p><p>You tuck your head down into your shoulders.</p><p>“Oh, liebling. I am quite alright, sincerely! I was simply caught in a predicament of reminding a patron of a previous arrangement that he had engaged himself in with, hmmm, how should I say, with a precarious associate of a friend of a friend of mine.”</p><p>“Oh. Um, got it,” Yeah that’s not scary at all, is it? Anyways. “Here, it sounds like you could maybe use one of these?” </p><p>You reach the coffee cup his way. A wince takes your face as he brings it into his hands.</p><p> “You uh, might wanna nuke it though.”</p><p>“Oh? How thoughtful, truly! Danke, my dear.” Pan lifts the coffee to his nose and sniffs it. </p><p>You snicker. “I promise I didn’t poison it.” </p><p>Pan hums a chuckle of his own as he takes a sip. You try not to laugh as Pan sticks his tongue out at his coffee with an accompanying <em> bleh!  </em></p><p><em> “</em>I didn’t know what to get you,” You laugh. “So I just went with black.”</p><p>Pan stares at his cup of coffee with a frown. The dude looks offended. Funny as hell.</p><p>You follow him into his kitchen and he opens the cupboard above his microwave. He wiggles his fingers through a variety of spices and seasonings until he brings out a tube of sugar.</p><p>It’s a nice kitchen. All modern with stainless steel appliances, white countertops, and black cabinets. There aren’t many decorations. Everything looks put away and it seems like he keeps things pretty neat and tidy.</p><p>You park your rear on the island in the center with a small hop.</p><p>Pan pops the lid off of his cup of coffee and begins adding in some sugar.</p><p>Scratch that. He’s pouring it in.</p><p>You bite your lip. Don’t laugh.</p><p>Que the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Wi8Fv0AJA4">Jeopardy theme.</a></p><p>Still pouring.</p><p>Annnnnnd still pouring.</p><p>Okay he’s done.</p><p>Pan takes a sip off of his coffee. </p><p>“You like your sugar with some coffee, yeah?” You mix your Frappuccino around with your straw. “ I’m the same way. I’m a total sucker for sweets.”</p><p>Pan swirls his coffee, aerating it as one would a fine wine. “Mmm. It is to my tastes that all the finer peculiarities in life are indeed sweet.” </p><p>He’s just staring at you.</p><p>Wow. </p><p>What does that even mean, though?!</p><p>“You uh,” Gesturing with your cup towards his fridge, you choke out, “Creamer, milk?” </p><p>Pan’s posture deflates a bit. He huffs a sigh before popping his coffee into the microwave. “Most unfortunately I am known to be quite sensitive to dairy and its byproducts.”</p><p>“Dude, that blows. Are you lactose intolerant? Is that what it’s called?”</p><p>Pan slaps a hand over his heart. He belts out a sigh. “You are absolutely correct in your assertion, liebling! Quite the punishment to pay, is it not?”</p><p>You frown. “I don’t know how you do it. I’d never be able to give up cheese.”</p><p>Yeahhh. You’d rather die than give up cheese.</p><p>“Ohhhh, do not remind me,” Pan laments. He retrieves his coffee, lips fanning over the lid while he blows away a small sheet of steam. “Would you care to partake of a secret?”</p><p>You lean forward. “I’m listening.”</p><p>Something dark chuckles up from the back of Pan’s throat. He sips at his coffee. “I allow myself the selfish indulgence once a year.”</p><p>“Only once a year?” You squawk. “I think I’d live on the toilet. I wouldn’t be able to give it up!”</p><p>Pan covers his face. He’s glowing red as he tries not to laugh.</p><p>Not like you’re any better.</p><p>After shaking his head, Pan gestures towards his living room. “Well! That was certainly enlightening. Now then, allow us to migrate towards that of which brought you here today.”</p><p>“That’s fair,” You’re still giggling as you move to slide off of his counter. Pan offers you his hand.</p><p>“Allow me, Fräulein.”</p><p>You pause, a lump forming in your throat. </p><p>“Oh, um,” You take his hand and slip off of his counter. “Thanks.”</p><p>Oh no. Nonono. Don’t give him the doe eyes. Don’t you do it.</p><p>Annnnd you’re giving him the doe eyes. </p><p>Pan smiles, but it’s not his contagious smile that you’ve come to know. It’s softer and worn more in the creases of his eyes rather than on his lips. It makes your heart flutter.</p><p>Um.</p><p>“D-Do you, do you have a trash can?” You murmur, holding up your empty plastic cup. “Ya know, for trash?”</p><p>Nice one.</p><p>“Why, as a matter of fact I do!” Pan plucks away your empty cup. Without looking he tosses it over his shoulder. It lands in the trash bin beside his refrigerator. </p><p>Your jaw drops.</p><p>How?!</p><p>How did he?!</p><p>“How did you do that?!” You shriek with a laugh. “Oh my god, does your sugar have magic in it?! Is that what they feed you?!”</p><p>Pan sputters on his coffee. He’s trying not to laugh and failing miserably. </p><p>He doesn’t answer you. Instead, he retrieves a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wipes away the coffee dribbling down his chin.</p><p>Much like his kitchen, it looks like Pan takes really good care of himself. Not just because he’s cleaning himself. Anybody would do that. No. It’s his uniform. Quite different from the canary yellow one from yesterday.</p><p>This one is sleeker. A cold black suit with a white collared vest. Indigo tie. The left side of his chest is littered in gold and silver medals and a few colorful ribbons. He’s got the same boots on from yesterday, too. Belts, straps, and all. His dress pants are tucked into them and there’s not a wrinkle in sight.</p><p>Much like his hat, all of his blacks are so dark they shine with a tint of blue. </p><p>He takes good care of himself. </p><p>Which is why you’ve got the courage to lick your thumb, march on up to him, and swipe away the bead of coffee attempting to roll down onto his vest.</p><p>“Missed a spot,” You dust his chest with the back of your fingers. “Yeahhh. That would’ve sucked.”</p><p>“I-Indeed! Haha, ah, ja, that it would have,” Pan clamps down on the inside of his cheek. A flush creeps into his cheeks.</p><p>The scent of his cologne, sharp sandalwood that smells like it’s been dabbed with alcohol, stings your nose. It stings in the good way. Kinda makes you feel light headed.</p><p>And then you realize that you’re only smelling it because you’re way deep inside of this dude’s personal bubble. </p><p>You look up into his eyes. He’s giving you that smile again and you’re so close that you can see the flecks of silver buried in the blues of his eyes. </p><p>Scrambling a foot backwards, you begin scratching at your forearm as you try to recover. “Hey! So, um, you’re dressed really nicely. Yeah? Do you have somewhere you’ve gotta be? I mean, I’d hate to hold you up, I-I can get my stuff and make a break for it.”</p><p>Pan clears his throat more times than you think are necessary. “Come now! Do not be as they say, so silly!”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“It should be noted that I do not abandon my post unless under the threat of necessity,” Pan motions for you to follow him into his living room. You take your seat as he drops down into his office chair. He hands you your sketchbook from the left of his desk. “In any case, understand that if I had been required in person for such an occasion I would have requested your escort.”</p><p>“Man, I dunno. I’m already your accomplice and now you wanna use me as a bodyguard?” You cross your arms over your sketchbook, a laugh trapped in your chest. “I mean, I’ve got a mean right hook but that’ll cost ya.”</p><p>Pan leans forward, interlocking his lengthy fingers. “I would not dare to dream to involve you in such a manner. Nein. I would wish for nothing more than your companionship should the endeavor ever arise.”</p><p>...Oh.</p><p>Despite the cool air blowing in from the vents slotted into his flooring, Pan’s apartment is sorta kinda starting to feel like an oven. Or maybe it’s just you.</p><p>You’re starting to sweat. “So um, I think your uniform is cool. Yeahhh! Uh, were you ever in the military?”</p><p>No shit, Sherlock.</p><p>Pan leans back into his office chair and it creaks. “Indeed, you are corrrrrect mademoiselle! From the ripe young age of eighteen until thirty four I was enlisted as a serviceman to the armed forces.”</p><p>“Oh wow! That long, huh?” You cross your legs beneath yourself and lean forward. “What branch were you in?”</p><p>Pan lifts up a finger, a chuckle clinging to the tone of his voice.  “Ah, ah, ah! Quid pro quo.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Why, allow us to engage in a courteous exchange of information! Haha! Liebling! Rest assured that If you aspire to procure for yourself a bit of knowledge about me, that I too, wish to understand more about you.”</p><p>You scoff and jab a finger at one of his many computer monitors. “Hey! That’s totally not fair! You already know a bunch of stuff about me that I didn’t give you the right to know! What gives?!”</p><p>Ugh! The audacity of this dude!</p><p>Pan roars with laughter as he kicks a leg out and launches himself into a carousel of his swivel chair.  “And yet you know not a crumb about me and you can not deny that you wish to satiate that hunger of curiosity, do you not?! Who is this enigma before you, truly?”</p><p>Pan slows to a stop. He's still grinning.</p><p>You narrow your eyes.</p><p>“If you would desire to entertain the thought of who I may or may not be then I beseech you,” Pan wiggles his eyebrows. “Quid. Pro. Quo.”</p><p>This mother fucker here.</p><p>“....Fine,” You sink back into his couch. Pan smiles that infectious smile of his and you feel your lips twitching to match. “What do you wanna know?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> I too, would die without cheese.</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cello in G Major</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> Bold of anyone to assume that you know what flirting is.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter six<br/></sub>
</p><p> 𝘊𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘎 𝘔𝘢𝘫𝘰𝘳</p><hr/><p> </p><p>So.</p><p>Here’s the deal.</p><p>You’re not a morning or a night person. You’re more of a whatever current hyper fixation has your attention depends on your sleeping schedule type of person. </p><p>But here of late you’ve been on a morning(ish) routine. Probably residual from your old job.</p><p>However. That’s allllll gonna change. </p><p>Time to start hootin’ with the owls because you’re still hanging out with Pan. And it’s getting late.</p><p>What? Yeah, you could have left a while ago. But his game of Quid Pro Quo led into you asking him about his time in the military. And his answer? Was that before the both of you dive into his history, why not partake of a bit of Chinese food together?</p><p>Take out.</p><p>Awesome.</p><p>So you’re still here. And you have no idea what time it is.</p><p>You don’t care.</p><p>“Blue,” You chew around a piece of orange chicken. “Somethin’ tells me yours is either yellow or red, so I’m not gonna waste my next one on asking you that.”</p><p>Pan slurps up a helping of chow mein. He dances his eyebrows. “Whatever happened to give you that impression?”</p><p>You bark a laugh. “Call it intuition. Anyways, favorite place you were stationed?”</p><p>“A most excellent inquiry!” Pan’s eyes lift to the ceiling. He smiles softly. “ You may label me as sentimental for I find there to be not a finer place to be than Berlin.”</p><p>“How long were you stationed there?”</p><p>“Ah, ah, ahhhh,” Pan tuts. “Tell me, what genre of music is to your fancy?”</p><p>Ughhhh. You roll your eyes. Quid pro quo. </p><p>Anyways.</p><p>“Gotta be straight with you,” You toy with a piece of orange chicken, swirling it around your carton. “I’ve always hated that question. But don’t take that the wrong way, kay? It’s just… kinda hard to answer. I like a lot of music so pinning it down to just one genre is hard.”</p><p>“While I can most certainly empathize with your plight,” Pan clicks his chopsticks at you. “That fails to satisfy my question.”</p><p>Smug bastard.</p><p>You allow for your head to fall back. “Fiiiiine. Ugh, I dunno? How about Rock and roll-- Wait, no. Electronic. And loud. But I also have a soft spot for Classical, as weird as that sounds. Like, there’s this song by Bach. Hell if I know the name of it but I know that it’s got the Cello.”</p><p>“Ah. Cello suite number one, G major.”</p><p>You stop fiddling with your food.</p><p>No freakin’ way. That’s it!</p><p>Laughter bubbles up from your chest. “You do look like the kinda guy that would like classical music, don’t you?”</p><p>Pan chuckles. “Perhaps. Erring on the side of ambiguity, I will reveal no more. Unless… that is your next query. Hmmm?”</p><p>“Sure,” You let out a giggle. “Why not.”</p><p>“Then consider yourself proper! I do indeed harbor an appreciation for classical music. Specifically, any piece that came to fruition during the renaissance era. It happened to foster a fondness within my heart as a strapping young lad. For you see liebling, while enlisted flights from the states to Dubai were quite common and maddeningly verbose.”</p><p>Pan paints an invisible picture in the air with one of his fingers. He almost has you believing that you can see watercolor flowing from his hand with the way he twirls. “It is astounding, truly. The way in which music can evoke such a sense of emotion from one's heart. Adventure. Sadness. Overwhelming love. And let us forget not, nostalgia.”</p><p>His eyes meet yours. “Wouldn’t you agree?”</p><p>You stomach swoops.</p><p>He looks softer than snow on Christmas eve right now. </p><p>“Um, yeah! I mean,” There’s a flush creeping into your cheeks. “I think… I think that music is the next step when it comes to communication, ya know? I mean, that piece by Bach? Even though it doesn’t have any words it says more than most songs with lyrics do.”</p><p>Pan smiles <em> that </em> smile. “How lovely. A beautiful answer from a beautiful woman, truly.”</p><p>Ohhhh god.</p><p>How do you even respond to that?! What are you supposed to say?!</p><p>...Is he flirting with you? Is this flirting?</p><p>You scratch at the back of your neck. “It’s um, no big deal! I mean, you kinda set me up for that one, and, and, yeah! What you said was really pretty too! Yeah. Pretty words. Pretty guy. You’re a pretty guy--”</p><p>You cover your mouth before you can squeak out anything else.</p><p>Just had to go there, didn’t you?</p><p>Pan’s eyes widen. He looks like a thermometer cause he’s growing red from his neck up to his ears. “Err, I-I, rather, I, Well! Ja! Indubitably! Danke, dir, l-liebling, a lovely compliment from a lovely--Rather! Ja, truly lovely. Lovely, lovely, lovely. Haha, Jaja...”</p><p>For a moment, you both just kinda stare at each other. Pan fiddles with his tie and gulps. You think if you look away from his eyes something bad might happen. It’s like you're frozen and the only part of you that’s moving is the wild, panicked rhythm of your heart. </p><p>“So, um,” You manage to choke out. “I-I, I think it’s your turn still?”</p><p>It’s your turn. But you can’t really think straight right now.</p><p>Pan removes his cap and smooths a hand over his head. “I-Is that so?”</p><p>You nod your head. A pregnant pause falls between the both of you and Pan looks like he has an eternity trapped within a second caught in his eyes.</p><p>“Tell me, young lady. What brought you to my treasure box?”</p><p>“Uhhhhh,” You crack a smile. “Cause I wanted a job?”</p><p>Pan chuckles. He places his cap back atop his head. “Allow me to elaborate: What occurred with your previous employer that forced your hand? I refuse to toy with the notion that you were simply cast aside.”</p><p>You heave a sigh with the edge of a laugh husking your tone. “For starters? What if I told you that I had been fired for embezzlement?”</p><p>“Haha! Liebling!” Pan grins from ear to ear. “We have further in common than I had originally dared to consider!”</p><p>Of course he’d have that reaction.</p><p>“Oh my god, no,” You start playing with your food again. “No, I wasn’t canned for stealing. I kid. In truth, the company just kinda… took a shit. And it was out of the freakin’ blue. No warning. I was just handed my last paycheck yesterday and wished good luck.”</p><p>“Yesterday, you say?! Why, I merely found it delightfully ironic that your resume had been posted the very same day I chose to peruse the bowels of the web for an apprentice, yet, ohhhh, liebling! How thrilling! This new arrangement of ours truly was fated!”</p><p>Pffft.</p><p>“I still don’t understand why you need me,” You shake your head with a tired chuckle. “You’re like the Swiss army knife of tech and stuff.”</p><p>“Indeed, I am a man of many techniques and talents! However,” Pan reaches a long arm over to your sketchbook and snatches it up.</p><p>“Hey!” You bark.</p><p>He ignores you.</p><p>“While I possess many tools of the trade among other influential strengths, you my protege, you hold the key to many doors.”</p><p>“...What do you mean by that?”</p><p>“Creativity! Simply put? My dearest Holly, the very world is your canvas!” </p><p>Pan leafs through your sketchpad, a thoughtful expression sweeping over his face. “Understand that the pen is mightier than any weapon. I may be comparable to that of a Swiss army knife, yet you? Ahhh, you are a paintbrush. And a fine one at that.</p><p>Pan leans forward and claps your sketchbook closed. He hands it back to you. <em>”</em>This is why I desire your assistance. I require an individual of talent that is capable of complementing both my strengths and weaknesses.”</p><p>“No pressure, right?” You chuckle. “But… thanks. For what you just said.”</p><p>You leave it at that. </p><p>“Nein, I require not an iota of gratitude. I simply can not permit my young protege to not comprehend her value! If I do say so myself, I--” Pan pauses as his phone begins to vibrate against his desk. Releasing a sigh, Pan retrieves his phone and his eyes widen impossibly. His face grows red.</p><p>Did he just get a dick pic?</p><p>“...You alright?” You dig your phone out of your back pocket. And then your expression matches his.</p><p>You have six missed calls from your mother. There’s a (9+) at the right corner of your text message app. But that’s not what’s alarming.</p><p>It’s a quarter past two in the morning. Oh my god, you thought it was maybe ten?!</p><p>Time… Heh. Time flies by when you’re having--</p><p>You shoot your Mom a text and tell her you’re fine. Looks like whoever Pan had to deal with got the back seat as well because he’s turning his phone off.</p><p>You lean back into his couch with the hint of a smile. “So, I wanna know. How long have you lived here?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>You didn’t leave Pan’s until early in the morning. Like, eight in the morning early.</p><p>The drive home was surreal. You’re used to driving towards the sun at that time of day, not away from it.</p><p>But it felt brighter than usual, bigger in your rear view mirror. </p><p>You drove with just your driver side window down. Your arm was hanging out, hand drumming against the side of your car. The stereo was blaring. Good music. Old stuff from high school that you haven’t heard in ages. </p><p>You smiled the entire time.</p><p>When you made it home your Mom was already gone for the day. Probably off playing an early game of bingo or whatever.</p><p>You crawled into bed. Clothes and all. The sunlight pouring in through your window blinds reminded you of your Grandma’s house. For some reason, it felt like you were about to take a nap on the fourth of July..</p><p>Before falling asleep your phone buzzed in your back pocket. It was Pan asking if you had made it home alright.</p><p>You told him that yeah, yeah you were good. And you wished him goodnight. Or, day. Whatever.</p><p>You put your phone down beside your head. You fell asleep shortly after that.</p><p>There was a smile on your face.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>You think you can pick up on someone calling your name but your headphones do a pretty good job drowning out the outside world.</p><p>And they’d better. They weren’t cheap.</p><p>You woke up around four in the afternoon, stumbled out of bed, took a shower, and grabbed a bite to eat. After that, you hopped onto your computer and started working.</p><p>Every document is the same, give or take a few small changes. Remove this name, add this date, or swap this paragraph of text with this other one.</p><p>Sorry, Mr. Jackson. Looks like you’re not getting primary custody of your kids. </p><p>F</p><p>You do this for the next hour until your headphones are ripped off of your head.</p><p>“Dude!” You snap your head around so fast you think it’s gonna pop off. Your Mom glares down at you. You scowl. “What gives?!</p><p>“Why have you been ignoring me?” She tosses your headphones onto your bed. You belt out a sigh as you turn off your music. </p><p>Blonde hair meant to hide the coming of unwanted grey frames her face. Years of tanning, alcohol, and substance abuse makes her appear all the more tired. She’s anything but, though. Especially when she’s glaring daggers at you that say I brought you into this world and I can take you out.</p><p>“I’ve been busy,” You wave her away. “Don’t take it personal. Clique went under but I got another job.”</p><p>Your Mom smirks. “It’s about time that bloated whale of a place went belly up.”</p><p>You roll your eyes and sigh. Can she go smoke a cigarette or something? You still have work to do.</p><p>“So where are you at now?”</p><p>Another sigh passes your lips. “I’ve got a job where I work for some guy doing um.. Edits and stuff. Yeahhh. I work on documents and help with spell check. There’s a few other things but that’s mostly it.”</p><p>Shhhh. It’s none of her business.</p><p>“Well kid, good for you. You do your old mom proud by gettin’ your shit together,” She winces, a hand rubbing at her lower back. “You gonna be able to put money in my account by the fifteenth?” </p><p>“Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem,” You reach for your headphones. “Can you go? I’m technically ‘at’ work right now.”</p><p>“You’re such a brat,” She snorts. She leaves your room, closing the door behind her. From the hallway you hear her sing, “You’re my favorite butt nugget!”</p><p>Your nose scrunches up with a frown. Ugh! You <em> hate </em>being called butt nugget. </p><p>Mental note: Find a time to throw Nicotine mummy in her face at a later date. She sucks down cigarettes like they’re going out of style. </p><p>You place your headphones back on--</p><p>Wait. You get up and lock your door.</p><p>No more interruptions.</p><p>Dropping back into your chair, you wiggle your headphones back on and blast the current song.</p><p>
  <em> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=996nDRrFa64">🎶 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯’ 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘥𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭?</a> </em>
</p><p>You hum along. That song plays for the next few hours as you work.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Three days later (don’t worry, you slept) it’s midnight and you really haven’t put a dent in all that Pan needs done. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.</p><p>If anything, it feels more like job security. </p><p>Time to wrap it up for the night. All you have to do now is email him the attachments through the private VPN he had you install annnnnnd finished.</p><p>A text message pings at your phone. It’s Pan, ridiculous emotes and all. A thank you in confirmation that he received the documents.</p><p>You smile at the text before shooting him one back. A little goodnight and you’re welcome.</p><p>Anyways.</p><p>Time for bed. Your biological clock is still clinging to your day schedule so you’re gonna try to get some shut eye.</p><p>Rather than your phone you grab your laptop off of your dresser and slide into bed. What? It’s not like you’re gonna go right to bed. No one does that nowadays. </p><p>You click through a few videos until you find one that recorded the Cover Fire: Tournament of Champions competition. It’s a game you’ve played a lot, one of those six versus six big team battle types with multiple character selections. You’re not half bad but you’re nowhere near these guys that play like they’ve installed an aim bot.</p><p>It’s freakin’ incredible. There’s this one dude who plays as a sniper that can no scope--</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Allow remote viewer access? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>What the hell? </p><p>A slim box with an <em> accept </em> or <em> decline </em>prompt pops up in the bottom right of your screen. </p><p>You frown. Ugh. Yeah, that’s probably a Trojan. You haven’t used this laptop in awhile. Is that why you stopped using this hunk of junk?</p><p>Whatever. </p><p>You shut your laptop and roll over to face the wall. That video isn’t going anywhere, you can watch it later.</p><p>Time for sleep.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em> Vvvbbbttttt. </em>
</p><p>And that just woke you up.</p><p>You lift your head up with a groan. Ugh, what gives?</p><p>
  <em> Vvvbbbttttt. </em>
</p><p>Squinting your eyes, you scan your room. The sun is barely starting to rise, light filtering through your window blinds and hazing the air.</p><p>
  <em> Vvvbbbtttt. </em>
</p><p>Wait, is that your vibrator-- Wait, no, that’s your phone. You rub at your eyes before swiping your thumb over the lock screen and--</p><p>Damn, what gives?! </p><p>Pan! Dude! It’s seven in the morning?! Oh my god, what does he want?!</p><p>Ugh! His apartment had better be on fire...</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> <i> slaps roof of fic </i> 

</sub></p><p>
  <sub> This bad boy can fit so much self indulgence!</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Elevator music</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> You think the package you just picked up for Pan is a bomb.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter seven<br/></sub>
</p><p> 𝘌𝘭𝘦𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤</p><hr/><p> </p><p>You keep one ear bud in and one out to listen for your call number. Lucky number seven. There are people talking here and there. It doesn’t exactly mix well with your music.</p><p>There aren’t a lot of people here, though. So it’s just kinda irritating over I just had to wake up early and will snap at any point irritating.</p><p>You pull your sunglasses from their perch atop your head. It’s bright like that one episode of Pokemon that gave kids seizures in here.</p><p>Stifling a yawn, you slump back into the plastic scoop chair you’ve parked in. Sunglasses on. One leg over the other. Third row, aisle seat, and you swear to god if the people next to you don’t shut up--</p><p>Why. You were here first, though? Why are they sitting this close to you?</p><p>Isn’t there a rule about this? Like, you don’t shit in the stall next to somebody if it’s just the two of you? Well, granted, you’re not supposed to shit if there’s anybody around, you wait for the bathroom to be empty, but that’s besides the point. </p><p>It’s some Grandma and her granddaughter. </p><p>Grandma kinda has the Betty White thing goin’ on where her granddaughter looks like the product of an alleyway with two legs and a man named black tar heroin. </p><p>Your head falls back and knocks against the chair. </p><p>Oh my goddd. Just shut up already.</p><p>You wanna die.</p><p>In any case, why are you here again? Oh yeah. Because Pan doesn’t like leaving his apartment and swindled you into coming to the post office to collect a package for him. </p><p>Because he could get it early if it was picked up in person.</p><p>Ugh.</p><p>You are his ‘accomplice’, after all. </p><p>Since when did you sign up to be his slave?</p><p>...It’s not so bad, though. He did ask nicely. Silly bright hearts, rose emotes, and all.</p><p>You stretch your mouth wide with a yawn and sink further into your seat. </p><p>A little while later an old call box fit into the corner of the room announces your number. Thank god. </p><p>When Grandma and her parasyte aren’t looking you shoot them a dirty look. Go you, petty champion.</p><p>The man behind the counter sounds like he gargles shards of glass instead of listerine upon greeting. His smile is crooked, yellow. Dark skin is riddled with welts and acne scarring. His eyes are kind, however. He has that look of someone who’s worked here for forty years and loved every minute of it.</p><p>“How might I help you this morning'?” Your eyes catch his name badge. Ross.</p><p>“Good morning,” You dig your phone out of your back pocket. “Just a sec, I know I need to pick up a package for Pan Darsteller. But let me get his invoice number for you.”</p><p>“Ohhhh, Mr. Darsteller? Might you be his wife, then?”</p><p>
  <em> What. </em>
</p><p>“Pffffft,” Your cheeks grow warm. “No, not even close. I uh, work for him.”</p><p>“I’m ever so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve just been handling his shipments for quite some time now and it’s worth noting that he’s never picked up anything in person,” Ross grabs a slender box stamped with blocky black lettering that reads <em>fragile</em><em>. </em>“His stuff usually ships out on Tuesdays and has for the last few years or so. Just found it peculiar to see someone pickin’ up for the fellow, all things considered.”</p><p>You shrug a shoulder, a smile tickling at your lips. “Don’t worry about it. And yeah, that sounds about right. He’s a bit of a recluse from what I’ve gathered.”</p><p>“One more sec,” You scroll through your text messages from Pan. He sent you an invoice number, it’s here somewhere! “I’m sorry, it was here just a moment ago--”</p><p>“Might you be Holly Leonhardt?”</p><p>
  <em><strong> What.</strong> </em>
</p><p>You eye him with a bit of caution. “...Yeahh. Yeah, I am. I uh, never told you my name though.”</p><p>Ross rotates his clunky monitor your way with a grunt. He leans forward on an elbow and points at your name. “Seems like you’re on his pick up list. The only one, actually. So I won’t be needin’ that invoice number. Just some good ol’ fashioned government issued ID.”</p><p>“That’s… Yeahhh. That’s something, alright,” You stare at the computer monitor. “Does it tell you how long I’ve been registered on his pick up list?”</p><p>“Hmmm, looks like it says his profile was updated this-- wait, this morning?” Ross’s brows tighten. “Well I’ll be. This must be one of those glitches they've been talkin’ about. Myself and Yolanda are the only ones here today and neither of us have gone through addin’ in any new information—“</p><p>Ross stops himself as his eyes dart between you and the monitor. He swivels it back around and replaces his concern with his best customer service smile.</p><p>“Don’t mind me. Now then, may I see your ID?”</p><p>A pit draws itself into your stomach. You slip your ID out of your phone case and fork it over to Ross. “Yeah, s-sure. Here it is.”</p><p>After a few signatures Ross hands you the shoe box sized package. You glance over your shoulder and towards your car.</p><p>“Thank you,” You mutter. “I’m sure this won’t be the last time I see you.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>You wanna know what’s in the box.</p><p>You pull into the only shaded parking spot at Pan’s apartment complex, car producing a few clunks and groans as you shift from drive to park. Biting your lip, you set the package in your lap. A shrill squeak grates your ears as you rub a finger against the tape.</p><p>Could you open it without him knowing? No, he’d totally know. This thing is sealed up tighter than a jar of pickles. Hmm…</p><p>You rotate it around before giving it a slight shake. It says fragile but--Oh my god!</p><p>What if it’s a bomb?!</p><p>You stop shaking it. The likelihood that this is a bomb is zero to none but so were the odds of you working for a psycho with the ability to remotely hack the postal service for his convenience. </p><p>Was he flexing? Maybe he’s just trying to keep you in check, ya know? Reminding you of what he can do? </p><p>But… he doesn’t give you that vibe. He’s kinda crazy in the head but what was his name… Demurgh? Devil man. Devil man said that Pan is pretty harmless outside of his job.</p><p>This is probably him just being nice, right? Yeah! Yeahhhh. Your name and information on his pickup list was just courtesy.</p><p>You kick your car door shut before hurrying into the apartment complex. As the glass doors part your phone vibrates in your back pocket.</p><p>It’s Pan with the pass code. 1009.</p><p>…</p><p>Nope. Don’t think about it.</p><p>Okay, yeah, that timing was unsettling.  </p><p>It makes your skin crawl as you call for the elevator. How did he know you’re here?</p><p>...Just what is his influence?</p><p>No. It was just a coincidence. Real life is often stranger than fiction. No need to start with any conspiracy theories.</p><p>Yet.</p><p>Avoiding eye contact with the receptionist, you shuffle towards the elevator. Nothing to see here.</p><p>It’s not like you’re carrying a bomb or anything.</p><p>You tuck Pan’s package underneath your arm as carefully as possible, step into the elevator, and punch in the pass code to the tenth floor.</p><p>The elevator shifts its weight down before humming and properly ascending. </p><p>Freakin’ hate that feeling. Makes your knees all weak.</p><p>Leaning against the wall, you take in a deep breath and the warm, buttery scent of vanilla tickles your nose. Mmm. You close your eyes and bring in another whiff. Smells like one of those expensive candles from the Hallmark shop at the mall. It’s better than nice.</p><p>Is someone baking cookies?</p><p>Aww. You want some..</p><p>Reminds you of the cookies your mom used to make when her health was in check. The kind where the chocolate chip to cookie ratio was in favor of the chocolate chip.</p><p>Your stomach rumbles. </p><p>Annnd you forgot to eat breakfast. Nice.</p><p>You bring Pan’s box into both hands. While studying the package music begins to filter in through the speakers fit into the top corners of the elevator. </p><p>You look at the speakers, heart stuttering.</p><p>There's no way.</p><p>The low groan of a Cello hums in your ears. It sounds like an evening in Italy. An evening at a restaurant where the table runners are dark red and the waiter says he’s lived here all his life. It’s warm, but there’s a soft drizzle of rain outside. It makes you feel vulnerable yet safe in a way you don’t understand.  </p><p>It’s hard to describe. Guess that’s why the Cello does all the talking, because this song has no lyrics.</p><p>You know this song. </p><p>It’s the one you told Pan about the other day, the one by Bach.</p><p>You squeak a thumb over the clear tape fit along the seam of his package. </p><p>A huff of a laugh passes through your lips.</p><p>How ironic, right?</p><p>
  <em> Ding! </em>
</p><p>You step out onto the tenth floor and head towards Pan’s door. It’s kinda strange, isn’t it? How he’s got the only door up here.</p><p>Does he have the whole floor to himself? His entryway, kitchen, and living room are pretty big, come to think of it.</p><p>What of his other rooms? What all does he keep in there?</p><p>Well, he likes guns and stuff. There’s also all the eclectic looking items in that cabinet fit above his desk. He’s obviously a collector, but..</p><p>You glance towards the box. Oh god, what if he’s into black market trade like stuff?! What if this is a shrunken head or something wild like that?! </p><p>Okay, but really, that would actually be kinda cool. </p><p>But it’s still creepy.</p><p>You bite back a groan. Oh man, Pan's totally a psycho, isn’t he---</p><p>Annnd you’ve just been standing here this entire time and now he’s opening the door.</p><p>How does he even know you’re here?! </p><p>Ugh, this dude probably has security cameras <em> everywhere. </em>Actually, he probably has security cameras for his security cameras!</p><p>Pan throws the door open and struts outside. The fake smile you had prepared for him melts to something more genuine. And then you’re trying not to laugh.</p><p>Someone is totally feeling themselves. He’s got on this tall ass top hat with a golden cummerbund. </p><p>Somehow Pan makes himself bigger as he grabs hold of his blazer, black, and gives himself a shimmy. There’s a silver tie tucked into the white dress shirt beneath his jacket. Coat tails fall from the back of his blazer and frame his thighs. To top it all off, he’s got on a pair of pressed grey slacks that run down to a set of golden oxford shoes that match the bands on his hat. </p><p>He looks like a pimp!</p><p>Pan leans your way, standing on the balls of his feet, ruffling up like a damn rooster as he greets you. </p><p>“Guten morgen, my young protege!”</p><p>You glance towards the box and Pan. You hold it out towards him. “Special delivery?”</p><p>“Ahaha! Exceptional indeed! Danke dir,” Pan lifts the box from your hands as he examines it. “Ahhhh, wunderbar! I have been quite anxious for the opportunity to properly fashion this prototype together for quite some time now.”</p><p>It’s a bomb.</p><p>“Um, no problem! Yeah, no problem,” You glance over your shoulder and towards the elevator. “Sooo--”</p><p>Pan lifts himself up to the tips of his toes once again, gazing over your head and towards the elevator. He purses his lips. Fingers dancing across the box, he takes a step back and draws a line with his eyes between you and his entryway.</p><p>You give him a guilty look.</p><p>No. Don’t do it. </p><p>No.</p><p>No.</p><p>Pan’s shoulders slump and his smile falters. He looks like a wounded animal.</p><p>Damn it.</p><p>You look at his shoes. The hint of a smile tickles your lips.</p><p>“....Have you had breakfast yet? I um, I know of this really nice place on fifth street and could go and pick us something up--”</p><p>“Nein, nein,” Pan waves you off. His cheeks brighten as he kicks a leg back onto the wall. He clears his throat.</p><p>“I believe I should be the one to propose such a nicety,” Pan pats his box with a sigh. He’s starting to smile that smile of his that could melt ice. “Might you have something in mind that would be to your fancy?”</p><p>You’re blushing.</p><p>And now your stomach is rumbling again. Pan smiles warmly in response.</p><p>Why.</p><p>Why, god?</p><p>You scratch a finger against your neck. “Well, whaddya got?”</p><p>“Mmm,” Pan chuckles as he digs into his breast pocket for his phone. “Why, I possess only the finest ingredients in life. Haha! Technology and currency, the salt and pepper of my arsenal.”</p><p>“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t think there’s anywhere in town that delivers before ten?”</p><p>“Oh darling, <em> please</em>. Surely you are aware of the fact that by now I am capable of pulling many strings,” Pan starts tapping at his phone. “If you believe that take out before noon is a wonder then you are certainly in for a treat as we move forward.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> Knowing Pan, anything could be in that box.</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Pandora's box</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> Turns out it wasn't a bomb.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter eight<br/></sub>
</p><p> 𝘗𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘢'𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘹</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Pan flies around his front room as he gathers an assortment of gadgets. Tweezers, knife and file, tube glue, and he chuckles when he retrieves a Swiss army knife and tosses a wink your way.</p><p>His hands work faster than they should through a cubby stuffed full of colorful vials. Several of the drawers rattle as Pan fingers at different screws, only plucking the smallest ones he can locate for himself. </p><p>He gestures with a swing of his hand for you to take a seat. “Ahh, I will join you momentarily! I am simply collecting what we shall require for the day's festivities.”</p><p>You sink back into his suede sectional and tuck yourself into the corner. “Uhhh, kay.” </p><p>You’re unsure of what you should be looking at. Pan frolicking about his front room with an armful of tools or <em> what’s in the box.  </em></p><p>You press your lips together as you stare at the box. <em> There it is. </em>Sitting on top of his desk between his monitors and mockingly menacing as the tape glints from the glow cast by his screens.</p><p>What the hell is in it?! </p><p>Tweezers, a knife, glue, screws..?!</p><p>...Are those little jars chemicals?!</p><p>It’s a bomb. It’s a bomb! He’s gonna put a bomb together in front of you.</p><p>Pan zips into his chair.  With a kick of his heel he takes himself from one side of his desk to the other. </p><p>Nyoom.</p><p>He skids to a halt with a firm press of his shoe just before the lip of the couch. The contents hooked in his arm spill over his sleeve and bounce across his keyboard.</p><p>He doesn’t seem to mind.</p><p>His elbows find his knees as he leans in, hands cradling his face, eyebrows dancing as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “You seem to have quite the aspiration to procure the knowledge of what I asked you to fetch for me.” </p><p>No shit.</p><p>Pan blinks between you and the box. Your eyes follow him as he retrieves it and sets it in his lap. “I see that I am correct in that notion!  Tell me, liebling. Would you care to free my prize from its prison?” </p><p>“Nono,” Your hands jolt up to your chest as you wave them around. “All yours! Really, you bought it. I don’t wanna spoil your fun, ya know?”</p><p>Pan slaps his hands against the package's sides before scratching his nails across the cardboard. </p><p>“Oh come now,” A grin that splits his face from ear to ear consumes him before he launches the box your way. He <em> giggles </em>as you fumble with catching it. “You spoil my fun if you do not take a wee gander of what now lays in your possession.”</p><p>Pan’s Swiss army knife bounces next to you. He sends a smirk your way. Smug bastard.</p><p>Fine.</p><p> You fit your thumb into the thin indent of one of the many different blades and give a tug. Pan pulls his lips in and bites back a chuckle as you reveal a bottle opener.</p><p>“Offiziers Messer's are quite tricky little multi tools, are they not?”</p><p>“Hey now, I meant to pull this one out.” </p><p>Your face tightens as you struggle with cutting the tape with the bottle opener. Damn it all, you’re not gonna let this man win one over you like this. </p><p>Not today!</p><p>The bottle opener can do this.</p><p>...Eventually.</p><p>You grunt while you continue to struggle with getting the damn box open. The tape crinkles until you finally slice open the box with a snag of the tooth against the lip of the package. Bubble wrap, crumpled brown paper, and ribbons of shredded tape find their way to Pan’s floor.</p><p>You retrieve a thin sky blue box wrapped in a layer of plastic. Black text that reads <em> Focke-wulf fw 191: Expert Craftsmanship required </em> consumes the top of an invoice glued to the kit.</p><p>You blink a few times. “It’s… it’s a model?”</p><p>...It’s not a bomb.</p><p>Well. Don’t you just feel sheepish?</p><p>“Indeed! It is rather cool as they say, is it not?!” You dip your head into a nod, a flush creeping into your cheeks. Pan prances his feet on the ground, kicking the contents of the box out of his way. “What conclusion had you come to before unveiling the revelry of my parcel?”</p><p>You bark a laugh. “You don’t wanna what I thought it was.” </p><p>“Correct me if I am wrong, however, I do remember informing you that I was facetiously insidious within the dark web and not externally.”</p><p>“I uh, beg to differ?”</p><p>“Mmm,” Pan chuckles. “You are quite the perceptive one?”</p><p>You shrug a shoulder. “I try to be, at least.”</p><p>You toss him his Swiss army knife.</p><p>He tosses it back. “Would you care to be my assistant?”</p><p>“I thought I already was?”</p><p>Pan glances towards the ground. He clears his throat before looking back to you with a blush tinting his cheeks. “Perceptive.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> Shavings of grey plastic lay strewn across the fold out table before you. You pop out different sprues with a set of pliers and set them to the left of a dribbling carton of tube glue. Pan, with a magnifying glass in one hand and a pair of small tweezers in the other, fits together different pieces of his model that’s currently held up by a stand.</p><p>Every once in a while he switches the tweezers with a white toothpick. He swabs up a droplet of adhesive to the tip before applying it to the model. You reach for the file and he nudges it your way. His finger brushes yours and your heart skips a beat. </p><p>Wait, what?</p><p>...Oh.</p><p>You think you know what’s starting to happen.</p><p>You turn your attention towards his kitchen while you focus on grinding down the nubs on your sprue. </p><p>Nope. Not blushing.</p><p>More than a few cartons of take out, some still with more than enough food in them, litter Pan’s countertops. There’s a kiss of garlic still clinging to the air. Probably from the grilled eggplant thing that Pan swears by. That or the bread sticks.</p><p>You whip your head back to Pan as the sound of his happy voice startles you. “Truly, it is such a nicety to have someone to aid in this endeavor! Normally this proceeding would take an uncanny amount of hours to complete.”</p><p>He glances at you through his magnifying glass. You stifle a giggle. The size of his widened blue eye is pretty funny. </p><p>You plop the sprue he’s gesturing for into his hand. “How long do these normally take to put together?”</p><p>“Approximately seven and a half hours, give or take.” Pan states. You hum with acknowledgement.</p><p>Looks like it. The model is maybe the size of your hand but it’s got about a million pieces.</p><p>His dedication to this is honestly really admirable.</p><p>You turn your head to the side, hair spilling onto the table as you gaze at the undercarriage. It’s totally rad, especially wher--</p><p>“Oohhhh careful, Geliebte!” Pan sweeps your hair off of the table, pushing aside the opened container of tube glue. His magnifying glass drops to the table with a clang.</p><p>You shoot back from the table. Gathering your hair over a shoulder, you comb through it to see if any glue got in it.</p><p>You breathe a sigh of relief. No glue.</p><p>“Holy shit, that would have sucked,” You keep checking your hair. “Thank you, Oh man—”</p><p>Pan chuckles. “That would have been a rather sticky situation, hm?”</p><p>“That," You squint your eyes. "That was bad pun and you know it.”</p><p>“Surely you are aware of the fact that the best ones often are."</p><p>Instead of retrieving his magnifying glass, Pan redirects his attention to pinching a slender bow shaped model bit between his fingers. He squeezes it a few times. “Did you know that it was this erroneous segment here that was the downfall of this specific aircraft?”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>Pan rolls the part over his fingers as he hums. “How you indulge me so! If you would be so kind as to carouse your very eyes unto this location here--”</p><p>He gestures to the underside of the model with the part. </p><p>“Das fliegende Kraftwerk in her prime was recognized for the ambitious nature in which Germany sought to furnish their Luftwaffe with the power of harnessed lightning, or as we know it today, electrical engineering!They sought to further their advancements in their times of conflict yet lacked prudence in their enterprise.”</p><p>“What does das fleejand craftwork mean?” You dance your hand over to Pan’s desk for your soda.</p><p>Pan lifts a hand into the air, splaying his thumb and ring finger as he rocks his palm back and forth. “The flying power-station! Germany slapped this moniker upon the Focke-wulf due to the irrational quantity of wiring and motor work that overburdened the bombers air-frame. A pity, truly. It was to most historical enthusiasts, myself included, a work of art.”</p><p>“So the piece in question,” You take a stubborn sip on your soda and a grating sound fills the air. “You said it was a bomber, yeah? Because of the bombs it would carry and all that electrical mumbo jumbo did it fail because it was too heavy?”</p><p>“You are close in your supposition, meine blume! However, oftentimes failure is a model in and of itself.” Pan pauses. “Do you.. where do you base your assumptions from? Are you perhaps an aficionado of military paraphernalia as I am?”</p><p>“Uhh...gonna have to give that one to video games. I do like military stuff but all my knowledge comes from the games I’ve played,” You nod your head towards his rifle mounted up on his wall. “It’s kinda like the gun. I based my opinion on what I’ve experienced in different games. A lot of the time if you have too much in your inventory you’ll get encumbered and won’t be able to move. Soooo if the plane was made overweight then it wouldn’t be able to fly, or it’d suffer--”</p><p>You smirk and dance your eyebrows. “Heavy consequences.”</p><p>Pan’s face falls flat. Your smirk grows wider.</p><p>“Go on though, I wanna know what made it fail.”</p><p>Pan narrows his eyes. He turns his attention back towards the model with a grumble.</p><p>Yeah, he doesn’t have a comeback. </p><p>Suck it, Pan.</p><p>“..Ahem. Ultimately the demise of the Focke Wulf were catastrophic engine malfunctions. Combined with generators that could effortlessly be punctured by enemy fire and a laughable hydraulics system at best the project was scraped with under a measly ten hours of test flight time logged.”</p><p>“Let me get this straight,” You lean back and cross one leg over the other. “It was a bomber, yeah?”</p><p>“Jaja. Ultimately the Focke-Wulf, at least this version here in question, was designed as a quad engine variant meant to deceptively deliver a medium quantity of bombardment,” Pan pauses to scoff. “That is, if the blasted thing could even make it across Berlin without stressing its locomotive to Hell and back!”</p><p>“So,” You take a sip off of your soda. “You could say it bombed?”</p><p>Pan blinks a few times. His face falls flat.</p><p>The best freakin’ silence you’ve ever heard consumes the room.</p><p>Until you've got him snorting out a laugh.</p><p>Jackpot!</p><p>“Liebling!” Pan covers his face and laughs. “That was positively dreadful!”</p><p>“I know!” You keel over with laughter, throwing yourself into his couch. “Oh man, and you walked right into that one too!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Pan licks the tip of his thin paintbrush before dabbing it into a glob of red paint. As if he were threading a needle, he positions the tip of his brush against the now completed model. He fills in the number ten before switching to a different brush, already swathed in clear coat, and applies the gloss. </p><p>“I thought you weren’t an artist?” You break the silence that has grown from his focus as you adjust the table lamp. It looks like he could use some better lighting on the slats and aileron. </p><p>Stuff you didn’t know about until he taught you the anatomy of a plane.</p><p>“Mmm?” Pan pulls himself back from his task, flipping the loupe up off of his set of jewelers glasses. He lets them slide down the bridge of his nose as he blinks a few times to readjust his sights. “Nein liebling, it’s worth noting that my genius is stretched across the left hemisphere of my intellect and only spontaneously does it frolic to the right.” </p><p>“We’re gonna have to agree to disagree on that. Cause you’re really good with your attention to detail. Like...really good.” </p><p>“Applying the stain to the proper region is nothing more than precision! A touch here, a dabble there, and pursuing a tinctures guideline does not equate to a creative finesse.”</p><p>“See, that’s your problem,” You nudge a finger against one of the paint jars. Cobalt blue, and you roll it into your open palm for emphasis. “Guidelines.”</p><p>Pan smirks as he pushes his glasses back up his nose. He swings down the loupe as he focuses it, pinching the small radial dial on the side as it ticks to the left. Soon the lens becomes consumed with a blown out version of your face. “Are you attempting to coach me?”</p><p>He looks like a total goober.</p><p>You bounce the vial of paint in your palm. “Not exactly but...I mean, if you’re down for a suggestion?”</p><p>Pan’s eyes flicker between you and the model as you hover a finger over the nose of the model.</p><p>For a second you think he’s gonna swat your hand away. Instead he lifts a brow and smiles.</p><p>A tickle that starts in your heart zips through and to the rest of your body. You didn’t think he’d be so receptive.</p><p>“I-I really like it! I think the reds and silvers really compliment each other. But don’t be afraid to pull out some other colors and do some custom stuff. It’d look wicked with some stencil work on the nose,” You bounce your finger over to the fuselage, just behind the cockpit. “Or some gold filigree details here. Just something that could give it that pop, ya know?”</p><p>Pan swings left and right in his seat before kicking his foot against the ground and launching himself into a full on spin. Look at him go! Your eyes widen as his coat claps around and the happy bastard almost loses his hat.</p><p>Okay Pan, get on with your bad self.</p><p>You tuck some hair behind your ear and glance away. You have no idea why you think that’s cute.</p><p>In his enthusiasm Pan almost knocks his glasses off as he throws his hands up in the air. "Ah, my young apprentice! Wunderbar! What a splendid idea, truly!” </p><p>Pan’s posture promptly collapses. He slumps forward, placing a hand on his chin as he taps a finger over his lips. “Alas, my dilemma on the matter at hand? I have already settled upon a set of particulars for this piece that would compliment my collection.”</p><p>“Hey! Don’t sweat it. It was just a suggestion, ya know? Maybe you can do it next time if you wanna?” </p><p>Mission abort. There’s nothing worse than pressuring someone into something they don’t wanna do.</p><p>“Aha!” Pan slaps his palms together. His voice catches in his throat as his hands shrink back to fiddle with the buttons on his blazer. “Next time! W-would you care for me to possibly purchase another model? T-there is another variant, a duo engine, an-and you could be my assistant once more! Surely you would enjoy engaging in another performance such as this again? Subsequently, you could apply your marvelous artistry!”</p><p>“Oh my god,” You exclaim. “Are you for real?!” </p><p>You’d love to be able to paint one of his planes! </p><p>“Jaja! Certainly so! Tis I! The man, the myth, the legend! Pan Darsteller, at your service,” Your stomach rocks with a laugh as Pan launches his hands back onto the table. “What say you, mademoiselle?!”</p><p>You’re smiling so hard it hurts. “I’d really like that! Let’s call it a date, kay?”</p><p>Pan’s chest swells. The dude’s beaming. He nods his head as he holds your gaze, only moving to reach up and adjust his hat that’s starting to slide off and to the left. You both share a light hearted laugh.</p><p>Pan shoots up to his feet. He sends a wink your way before stretching, and while watching him, you realize something. Something that really freakin’ sucks but also has you damn near choking on your heart.</p><p>The color starts to drain from your face. Pan says something but you can’t hear him over the drumming of your pulse in your throat.</p><p>You like him.</p><p>You <em> like </em> like him.</p><p>“Hmmm. Say liebling, I often toy with the contemplation of partaking of a Perrier with Italian yet I have failed to do so as of late. The chance has eluded me thus far,” Pan heads into his kitchen, throws open his fridge, and retrieves a slim green bottle. “Haha! Today is the day I reclaim that of which is my joie de vivre!”</p><p>Pan grabs another Perrier and dances it in the air. “Would you care to indulge with me?”</p><p>“Uhhh,” You're red up to your ears. “Sure! Yeah, sounds great. I’d um, love one.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> This chapter changed the least out of all the ones I've rewritten.  For the most part, this rewrite has been about exercising brevity, having fun, and giving Holly's character more gumption to match Pan's eccentricity. I've always felt that his personality would completely devour anyone else's, so if he's going to be with anyone? They'd better have a storm of fire in their soul.</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Growing pains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> There's a bathing suit you want. You don't buy it.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter nine<br/></sub>
</p><p> 𝘎𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴<br/><br/></p><hr/><p> </p><p>The two glass doors that slide open before you reveal a world that looks like a checkerboard hazed by a pink fog. </p><p>There are clowns everywhere. Black and white suits. Balloons. Unconvincing smiles crack their makeup.</p><p>There are regular people here too, but they don’t stand a chance. Sucked in by the promises of eternal youth, beauty, and other stuff? Damn. </p><p>Yeah. They were done the moment they dared to step foot in this place.</p><p>Which reminds you; You should've gone the other way.</p><p>Time to make a break for it.</p><p>Run.</p><p>Freakin <em> run! </em></p><p>Covering your mouth with your forearm, you dash towards the exit.</p><p>They’re gonna try to stop you, the clowns. They’ll sing their offers. Their promises. Things that only their magic can do.</p><p>Your eyes water as that pink mist slips into your nose. Cloying, powdery, like an old woman fermenting in a jar of ripe figs. It settles in your lungs and coats your throat. Ohhh goddd, it’s making you light headed...</p><p>But you <em> have </em> to keep going. Don’t give up!</p><p>The clap of your sneakers against the tile flooring echoes between your ears as you press on. You’re getting close to the exit.</p><p>Toothy grins wait in ambush around every corner. You avoid eye contact and keep pressing forward.</p><p>But then a pang of guilt draws a pit in your stomach as a woman, captured by one of the clowns, shoots you a panicked look. </p><p>Damn. </p><p>That’s the worst. You hope that she can see it in your eyes that you’re sorry. </p><p>Two more approach her from behind, resting their hands on her shoulders. From both of their palms they reveal vials of the pink mist.</p><p>You look away. It’s too much.</p><p>A sweeping entryway with blue carpet, a bench flanked by potted plants, and flashing advertisements plastered above an assortment of shops opens up into view as you round the corner. </p><p>Freedom!</p><p>With escape in sight, you throw yourself forward, nose buried in the crook of your arm, only allowing yourself to breathe when you cross the finish line.</p><p>Once you catch your breath you toss a sneer over your shoulder.</p><p>Ugh!</p><p>You hate the perfume department at the mall.</p><p>Okay. Deep breath. Now that that’s over... A buzz hangs in the air as the mall’s pelted by a downpour of rain. It’s falling like thunder out there. </p><p>Cats and dogs? </p><p>Pffft! How about horses, cows, the entire farm!</p><p>Which is why today is perfect for the mall! </p><p>Not many people like to go out on days like these. </p><p>Too much effort. </p><p>Windshield wipers at full blast, radio turned down so you can see better, and slippery roads tend to leave people on their couches. But not you! This is a prime opportunity to get some self indulgent shopping done without the hassle of crowds. </p><p>That and today? Today is Tuesday, quite possibly the most boring day of the week. </p><p>And not only is it a boring day…</p><p>It’s also a school day.</p><p>Which means no kids. </p><p>Hell yeah.</p><p>And you’ve got cash to burn. Your first paycheck from Pan hit yesterday and not gonna lie, it was pretty exciting to see three zeroes following a one in your bank account.</p><p>You were able to pay your portion of the rent to your Mom and keep her off of your back, take care of your own business, and save a little. Man, you haven’t saved since you hoped to buy Ygg when it first came to America.</p><p>But that was what, four or so years ago? Junior or Senior year, if you remember right.</p><p>Anyways.</p><p>You thought it was kinda cool that your paycheck just popped into your account. No warning. You didn’t even have to give Pan any of your information. Granted, he already kinda has it so that’s a given but it was pretty sweet nevertheless.</p><p>However…</p><p>A pang of loneliness hits your heart. </p><p>You haven’t seen Pan since you guys put that model together. Sure, you both have text back and forth a few times but it’s mostly just been about work stuff. A few messages asking if you could swap the names of this document on the fly, some requesting that you send your files to this email instead of that one, ya know.</p><p>The usual.</p><p>Sigh. And a heavy one, at that.</p><p>You walk into the coffee shop beside the burger joint in the food court. It’s pretty nice. They remodeled right before Clique shut down. It’s got windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling. A few tables and chairs and a comfy sofa. </p><p>The special on the blackboard perched atop the counter says they’ve got a caramel apple frappuccino. Which sounds hella good. You order one of those with extra green apple syrup and a shot of espresso and take your leave.</p><p>You meander in and out of stores, sipping at your drink. It’s funny. Now that you’re here you can’t think of anything you actually want. Every necklace you check the back of doesn’t feel worth the price. The clothes are meh. All the perfume smells the same. None of the video games look like they’re up your alley.</p><p>There was this one bathing suit, though. It was kinda pricey but it was one of those things that fit your aesthetic perfectly. A black one piece with a sweetheart neckline. What you really liked, though? Is it had a long skirt attached that looked like it had been thread with outer space. All shimmery and teal.</p><p>Dark with just a splash of color. Unique, but not stupid like Lady Gaga in a meat costume.</p><p>But you haven’t been swimming in ages. And you don’t think you’re gonna go any time soon, given how the weather has been acting up. So on the rack it stayed.</p><p>Wow, did you really only come here to buy a frappuccino?</p><p>Lame.</p><p>It’s like your body is on autopilot as you shuffle through the mall passing time. Past the block of jewelry stores, away from the people that want to straighten your hair, through generic department store number five, and then something opens up in your chest that you don’t quite understand as you make it to standing in front of an empty storefront. </p><p>It’s boarded up and there’s the vague hint of an outline of letters where a sign once was. To the left of the doors, there used to be a little stand with a booklet on top. A booklet of portraits for potential customers to flip through.</p><p>You take another sip off of your drink. The feeling in your chest is hollow, but you’re not sad. </p><p>You’re not sure what you feel. But… maybe this is just a part of growing up. </p><p>As memories often do, they wash over you like bath water spilling over the lip of the tub.</p><p>Laughter. Early meetings. Coming in on your day off. Getting written up even though you were trying really hard. Co workers who haven't text you since the business closed. You haven't text them either.</p><p>You take another sip off of your drink. What a... strange feeling.</p><p>Nevertheless, you leave after a time. You’re not sure how long you lingered. Certainly not as long as you worked there but you probably stood there longer than you think you should've.</p><p>
  <em> Ding! </em>
</p><p>You fish your phone out of your back pocket and smile when you see that it’s Pan.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘍𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘯! 𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺? ☀️🌻💛</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>Read 𝘢𝘵 2:30𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘩, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦! 😎 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘶𝘱? </p><p>
  <sub> <sub>Seen 𝘢𝘵 2:30𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘐 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯. 𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵?</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>Read 𝘢𝘵 2:31𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘓𝘰𝘭, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘬𝘶𝘭𝘭. 𝘚𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣! 𝘗𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦?</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>Seen 𝘢𝘵 2:31𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘞𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘳! 𝘋𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘷𝘦! 𝘕𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘥𝘦: 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦! 𝘏𝘢𝘩𝘢! 𝘔𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘨𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯.</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>Read 𝘢𝘵 2:31𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘚𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵! 𝘖𝘮𝘸. 💖</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>Seen 𝘢𝘵 2:32𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p>...Was the sparkly heart emoji too much?</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>Read 𝘢𝘵 2:32𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>You giggle and stuff your phone back into your pocket. Nope. Looks like you’re good.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>..So you may or may not have failed to tell Pan about your incident with Mira and Demiurge. Ya know, the same people he needs signatures from? Well, he doesn’t need one from Demiurge. Just Mira. But still.</p><p>This is the worst.</p><p>You wanna die.</p><p>Apparently Mira works for this place called Bizarre peek? She does a lot of charity work and it earns them tax write offs. And Pan’s got a total man crush on the guy who runs the place. Some guy named Ivan, but everyone calls him Angah. </p><p>From behind the scenes Pan takes care of a lot of their financials. He’s almost like a treasurer of sorts, you think? Maybe. Hell if anyone knows what Pan actually does.</p><p>But today he needs Mira’s John Hancock. </p><p>And it sucks because if he had it <em> anywhere </em> you could easily copy paste it onto the documents he’s needing signed. No one would ever know she never actually signed the papers. You’re that good. </p><p>Forging her signature is out of the question, though. Not when she works for the company. When dealing with this kinda stuff you want to keep all your ducks in a row and do stuff as clean as possible.</p><p>“So I sorta kinda need to tell you somethin’,” You scratch at your neck and avoid looking at Pan.</p><p>He’s ridiculous as usual, sporting a green suit jacket, black slacks, and emerald sequin shoes. Oh yeah, and his hat is green. Because of course it is.</p><p>It’s seriously enough to laugh at but you’d be a god damned liar if you didn’t love it. Pan’s sorta unapologetically himself. Kinda like how you were in high school.</p><p>He just never grew out of it. You really like that about him.</p><p>Just like how you really like him.</p><p>Oof. Yeah, you’ve totally accepted that you’ve got the butterfly feeling in your chest for Pan.</p><p>Damn it.</p><p>Which is why telling him that you were a total dick to the woman he needs a signature from is so hard.</p><p>“What is it that you wish to reveal to me?” Pan opens his fridge and chuckles. He points to a bottle of Perrier and then to a bottle of German beer. “Might this be an honest secret or one that requires a sample of liquid courage?”</p><p>You frown and point towards the beer. Pan laughs.</p><p>“How dastardly!” Pan grabs the beer by the neck, pops it open with a bottle opener, and slides it against the counter your way. “Come now, cough it up. Understand that if this deed of yours pertains to the law I need to know sooner rather than later so that I may snuff the issue out.”</p><p>You laugh a little at that. “No, nothing like that. I’m sure you know that I’ve got a clean record.”</p><p>“I kinda,” Your shoulders droop while you stare at the dark bottle within your hand. “The day you interviewed me? I was… running late. And I know how important it is to be punctual.”</p><p>“Mhmhmmmmm,” Pan hums. “All things to be considered, I’m quite pleased that you find time to be as they say, of the essence.”</p><p>“Yeah well,” You stop just before taking a swig. “I was in a rush. I was in such a rush that when the elevator doors were closing I sorta didn’t hold them open for…”</p><p>You motion towards the manila folder. </p><p>“Ah. I see,” Pan blinks a few times. A smile pokes at his lips. “Tell me, did Demiurge happen to be present?”</p><p>“Yeahhh. About that. I’m pretty sure the dude hates me. Like, when the doors were closing? He was just staring at me. No expression. His glasses even did the freaky glint thing.”</p><p>Pan chuckles to himself. “Consider yourself privileged! It’s not often that he allows for a stranger to burrow under his skin.”</p><p>“Oh no,” You groan and place a hand over your face. “He’s your friend, isn’t he?”</p><p>“Indeed, he happens to be a treasured comrade of mine. However, I am well aware of the fact that he is rather sour around the edges,” Pan takes a few steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder. “Pay him no mind, hm? Be his poor attitude as it may, it should be taken into account that he did not give you the old glasses down the bridge of the nose stare.”</p><p>Pan chuckles. “That, liebling. That is when we should have cause for worry.”</p><p>His hand on your shoulder is making you feel all warm, fuzzy, and kinda stupid in the head. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne again. It’s nice. Really freakin’ nice. You wanna be a total creep and spray it on your pillows and sleep with it.</p><p>“If you say so,” You let a soft smile dawn over your face. “I guess it’s okay.”</p><p>Pan gives your shoulder a squeeze and nods his head. You sigh and take a swig off of--</p><p>OH.</p><p>“Pan!” You cough and shove the bottle into his chest. “Oh my god, this is so nasty?! Why would you do this to me?!""</p><p>It's so bitter! Oh god, it's in your mouth!</p><p>Pan starts laughing. “Might I be safe to assume that you are not a fan of this indulgence in particular?”</p><p>“No!” You're laughing with him. “Oh my god that’s just, just, no!"</p><p>Pan’s still laughing as he takes the beer from your hand and throws back a swig. Your cheeks grow impossibly warm.</p><p>Is that like, a pseudo kiss?</p><p>Why are you even thinking like that? Can you not right now?</p><p>You wiggle around Pan and snatch up the manila folder. “So I’m just gonna take this on over and get it signed, kay?”</p><p>Pan leans against his fridge. He’s still nursing your, well, it’s his now. His beer. That was yours. Stop thinking about it. “Safe travels, my dear! And do be weary of the devil’s stare lest he raze.”</p><p>“Oh shut up.”</p><p>Pan chuckles and the stupid bastard might as well be singing with the way it makes your heart jump.</p><p>You step out of his apartment. While Pan locks himself back in you toss him a look from over your shoulder.</p><p>“Hey Pan?”</p><p>“Jaja?”</p><p>You giggle. “How’s the emerald city doing?”</p><p>“Liebling! Hush,” Pan dances his eyebrows. “Pay no attention to the gentleman behind the curtain.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 
 

</p><p>
  <sub> This chapter is all new stuff! And lol, I said on Tumblr that I was gonna space out updating but I got excited. 🤷</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Real Life on the Seventh Floor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> You think Mira is out to kill Pan.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter ten<br/></sub>
</p><p>𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘩 𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘳</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Alright.</p><p>Time to put on your big girl panties and knock on Mira and Demiorgs door.</p><p>That’s his name, right?</p><p>You dust off your clothes. Jeans, sneakers, and a black t-shirt with a health bar on it. Not the most impressive outfit buuut you did just come from the mall. And you didn’t plan on running errands today.</p><p>Oh yeah, and you still have your headphones around your neck.</p><p>You look like a hoodlum. </p><p>Ugh. Strike two against your record with these people. </p><p>You glance down the hall before facing their door once again. It looks like it’s been recently stained. Dark oak. There’s also a wreath hanging above the peep hole, decorated with fresh curls of rosemary and yeah, you’re stalling. </p><p>Releasing a breath, you knock on the door.</p><p>Here we go.</p><p>
  <em> Please let Mira answer the door. Please let Mira answer the door. </em>
</p><p>Moments later the door is pulled back and evil parading around as a man fills in the empty space. </p><p>Thin waist yet his shoulders are stacked. Both of his gloved hands are behind his back. The shadow he casts stretches from the door frame to the wall behind you, leaving you to fall somewhere in the middle of the darkness.</p><p>Well. Needless to say this isn’t Mira.</p><p>Damn it.</p><p>“Greetings,” Demiurge says flatly. </p><p>“Heyyyy,” You chew back the chill running down your spine. Much to your dismay, you can’t glance around Demiurge to see inside of the apartment. He fills up the entire door. “So… is Mira home? Pan sent me down and needs her to sign some stuff.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Demiurge glances towards the manila folder tucked under your arm. “Very well, then. I will see to it that they are signed and promptly returned to Mr. Darsteller.”</p><p>Demiurge motions for the folder. </p><p>Ooookay then.</p><p>You slide it towards him. “Um, sure. Sounds good.”</p><p>Demiurge begins closing the door. He says nothing more other than to stare at you from down his nose--</p><p>“Demi? Who’s that at the door?” Mira pipes up from behind him. “Oh! Is that Pan’s assistant? Holly, right? Hi there! Would you like to come in?”</p><p>Stepping to the side, Demiurge reveals Mira. She’s smiling, dressed with a light blue apron that’s been recently kissed with flour. </p><p>You glance between the two of them. Then you set your sights on her. “Uhh, why not? Don’t mind if I do.”</p><p>Demiurge closes the door behind the both of you as you follow Mira inside. You can practically feel the dude's eyes burning a hole in your back.</p><p>Yikes.</p><p>Anyways. </p><p>They’ve got a nice place, the two of them. It’s a lot different from Pan’s. </p><p>There’s three slender windows that frame their dining room in such a way that it looks like it belongs in a magazine. The table is longer than it is wide with six chairs. A white table runner with a single golden sash stripes the middle. All the places have been set with plates, glasses, and silverware. </p><p>Rosemary and mint, stuffed in a vase, claim the center of the table. Above that, a petite cone shaped chandelier with bulbs that look like they were blown to resemble the tips of fire. It’s pretty. Two layers. All the lights sit perched up on the gold bars like sparrows.</p><p>Mira takes you into her kitchen, and you steal a quick peek into her living room.</p><p>What?</p><p>You’re nosy.</p><p>Again, it’s quite a bit different from Pan’s. Most notably, it’s not as large. Secondly? Their place is a lot brighter. Everything has this white, baby blue, soft green, and dark wood feel to it. It’s like if November and April had a love child.</p><p>Their furniture looks really comfy. It’s not a sofa but it’s also not a sectional. What do you call a couch with five seats? </p><p>Awesome. That’s what you call a couch with five seats.</p><p>It’s flanked by a pair of matching end tables that each have similar vases of rosemary and mint. Across the way, there’s a fireplace with photos on the mantle of people you don’t know. What catches your eye, though? Beneath their television, on the second shelf of the stand, you can see a few gaming consoles.</p><p>A Nintendo 64, Play Station, and you think you can make out the chunky block of an Xbox. </p><p>You keep the chuckle attempting to crawl it’s way up your throat down. Wow. You didn’t take Mira for the type to play video games.</p><p>That’s so dope. </p><p>“I think I heard you say something about Pan needing me to sign some papers?” </p><p>Annnd you just got caught bein’ a total snoop.</p><p>“Yeah! Yeah,” You whip around to face Mira. She’s in her kitchen now, pulling a tray out of the oven. “I think he said it has somethin’ to do with---Hey, are those cookies?”</p><p>Mira slides another sheet of cookies into the oven. “Yep! Double chocolate chunk. Everyone at the office seems to be really fond of them. I think it’s because I use semi sweet chips? Our family recipe calls for forty percent but I prefer seventy and… Yep. Oh boy, I’m rambling. Would you like one?”</p><p>“I mean,” You point towards the cookies and then yourself. You grin. “If you’re offering?”</p><p>No shame. </p><p>Mira scoops up a cookie with a spatula and sets it onto a napkin. “Would you like something to drink?”</p><p>“Nah, I’d rather play the hot pocket game with it.”</p><p>“...The hot pocket game?”</p><p>You huff on a laugh. “Yeah! Ya know, where you put it in your mouth and then burn yourself and do the hah - sha - sha thing?”</p><p>“Oh my gosh,” Mira starts giggling. “Let me get you a glass of milk or something.”</p><p>Mira pulls her fridge door back and reveals a damn grocery store. Seriously! The top shelf is overflowing with leafy vegetables, herbs, and fresh fruit. There’s also what you think is a rack of lamb, pre crusted with salt, sitting at the bottom. </p><p>You toy with splitting your cookie in half while staring into her fridge.</p><p>...Does Pan like lamb?</p><p>Damn it. Stop that.</p><p>Anyways.</p><p>Mira retrieves a pitcher of milk. While she pours you a glass you fight back the flush flooding into your cheeks by breaking your cookie. It’s pretty, how the chocolate oozes out of the middle in ribbons.</p><p>..Does Pan like chocolate?</p><p>Oh my god, whyyyy. Your heart is doing that happy <em> thump thump thump </em> that makes your stomach feel full of clouds. To be fair, you don’t remember the last time you had a crush on someone. You kinda forgot how they end up invading every thought you have.</p><p>But the warm and fuzzy feeling is a nice trade off, you suppose. </p><p>You plop a portion of the cookie into your mouth and before you know it you’re moaning. Like a whore.</p><p>It’s <em> that </em>good.</p><p>“Holy shit,” You cover your mouth while you chew. “Duuuude. My Ma can make some dope cookies but these blow hers out of the water by a mile.”</p><p>Mira hands you the glass of milk. “I’m glad you like them! In all seriousness, I toyed with the recipe a bit so you kinda played the role of unintentional guinea pig for me. I was a little worried they might be too salty but your reaction says otherwise!"</p><p>“Call me anytime you need a test subject,” You finish off the rest of your cookie and throw back a swig of milk. “Oh man, that’s good. Seriously, though. If you ever--”</p><p>You roll your tongue over your teeth as you look at Mira. Your brows furrow.</p><p>“...Did you put vanilla in those?”</p><p>“Oh? That’s a nice guess. Yep, I sure did!”</p><p>“You were... You were baking the other day, weren’t you? Oh my god, dude, I could smell those through the elevator. That’s crazy.”</p><p>“Y’know, one of the changes I made was that I put a handful of pecans in the batch,” Mira states. “So, really, you could say that it was nuts.”</p><p>...Did she just..?</p><p>You blink a few times.</p><p>Mira smiles and retrieves a cookie for herself before calling over to Demiurge, “Demi? Can you bring me those papers, please?”</p><p>She totally did.</p><p>Dripping with all the self importance typically reserved for a lawyer, Demiurge passes you and takes his place beside Mira. She leans over the paperwork as he presents it for her on the counter, retrieving a pen from his breast pocket and placing it to the left of the folder.</p><p>“I see you settled on the donation to the grant for schools clubs as the focus of the next charitable directive,” Demiurge hums. “And here I expected you to return the company to the rehabilitation centers.” </p><p>Mira begins leafing through the paperwork and signing the documents. “Well... I kinda noticed that after we show support somewhere, those groups tend to get help from companies like us. If we’re gonna be setting an example, I’d like to spread that good as much as we can. And if we can help other companies find charitable niches that work for them, why not diversify the good we do!”</p><p>“I’m just so glad the idea got approved.” Mira sighs as she signs the last one.</p><p>Gotta love work talk.</p><p>“Here you go!” Mira sings and you tuck the folder under your arm. “Can you do me a favor, though? If I were to package up a few cookies would you take some up to Pan? We worry that he doesn’t eat enough and while I know they’re just cookies it’d make me happy to send you with a little something his way.”</p><p>You try not to laugh. Someone hasn’t seen Pan demolish take out like it’s goin’ out of style. </p><p>It kinda makes sense, though. For her to worry and all. Pan is kinda lanky. He’s just one of those that burns more calories than an Olympic swimmer while sitting.</p><p>Lucky bastard.</p><p>“Sure. He’d really like that, I’d bet.” </p><p>You watch as Mira begins packaging up a Tupperware container of cookies. She separates them with paper towels by layers and---!</p><p>“Wait!” You dart to her side, a look of panic having stolen your face. “Oh my god, Dude, I’m so sorry, he’s actually allergic to dairy. I should have said something sooner, but unless we wanna send the man a batch of disappointment we might not wanna do this.”</p><p>Mira blinks a few times before frowning. “Oh. Oh wow, that’s no good. Hmmm.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. My bad, I didn’t--”</p><p>“Do you have ten minutes?” Mira reaches up into her cupboard and retrieves a bottle of vanilla extract. Next, she pulls out the drawer to her left and reveals a bar of dark chocolate. “I’ve got a cousin that’s lactose intolerant. If you’ve got the time to spare I can whip up something!”</p><p>“Uhhhhh,” Hesitation clings to your voice as Mira zips off to her fridge. Oh god, why is she grabbing avocados? Almond milk?</p><p>..How do almonds even have milk? They don’t have nipples? </p><p>You’re just staring at her. Staring at her while she chops up the chocolate bar, mixes flax seed with the almond milk, mashes up the avocados and ewww, is that peanut butter?</p><p>She wants to kill him. Mira’s gonna kill Pan. She’s gonna kill your man.</p><p>“You seem ill at ease,” Demiurge speaks up, chuckling to himself. He’s been in the corner of the kitchen this entire time. Quiet. Fiddling with his phone and occasionally looking up from it to hold Mira within his view.</p><p>Dude’s a creep.</p><p>“Yeah well,” You side eye him. “Kinda looks to me like she wants to kill him.”</p><p>Demiurge barks a laugh. “If only.”</p><p>How. How are Pan and this guy friends, again?</p><p>As promised, ten minutes pass and Mira’s pulling out the death cookies from the oven. Yikes. They look like they were scraped off of a tree.</p><p>You try not to wince as she hands you one. From out of the corner of your eye, you catch Demiurge giving you a look. It’s the type of look that says so help me god if you don’t eat that cookie.</p><p>This is the worst.</p><p>You break off a piece.</p><p>They’re both looking at you.</p><p>Drum roll please.</p><p>You put it into your mouth, hoping you can chew as fast as you can and taste as little as possible. Ugh. This is gonna taste like seaweed, isn’t it?</p><p> And… </p><p>...The texture is kinda odd? If anything, this is more of a brownie than a cookie. It’s really moist. Rich, and the chocolate is so strong that you can feel it in your nose.</p><p>…</p><p>Wow this is actually really good??</p><p>Mira smiles knowingly. Demiurge just… stands there.</p><p>“Sooooo,” You scratch at the back of your neck. ”We’ll be needing all of those.”</p><p>Mira giggles. “I figured as such.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Much to your surprise, you can actually mark what just happened down as a successful notch on your belt. Things went a lot better than expected, that’s for sure.</p><p>They’re not so bad, Mira and Demiurge.</p><p>…</p><p>Okay so Demiurge is the worst but Mira is pretty cool.</p><p>With cookies in one hand and freshly signed papers under your arm, you step onto the elevator and press for the arrow keys to close the doors--</p><p>“Holly! Wait up a sec!”</p><p>Sticking a foot forward, you stop them from closing at the last second. </p><p>You share a laugh with Mira as she catches up and dusts off her apron. “Oh boy, I didn’t think I was gonna make it in time!”</p><p>“Yeah, that was way close,” You tap your foot against the elevator door. Just to make sure it stays open. “Sooo, what’s up?”</p><p>“Well, I know that we could’ve probably just forwarded Pan an email but it was important to Cole that he get this,” Mira passes you an envelope. Blue. The handwriting on the front is a little sloppy but it only serves to help it feel all the more welcoming. </p><p>“Can you make sure he gets it?”</p><p>“Sure,” You slip the envelope into the manila folder under your arm. “What’s in it--”</p><p>“Oh shoot, my next batch is nearly ready! Sorry, gotta go!” Mira rushes away. Just before she gets back into her apartment she bounces a hand up in a wave. “Hope to see you there this weekend!”</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub>PSA: We've moved from mystery box to mystery envelope.</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Divine Tragedy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> You’re gonna go and buy that bathing suit you wanted.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter eleven<br/></sub>
</p><p>
  <sub> 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥𝘺</sub>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Staying at Pan’s place longer than you should is starting to feel more like a regular occurrence rather than a thing you only do every now and then. </p><p>Not that you mind that. </p><p>After giving him the paperwork and cookies from Mira along with the envelope, you both just kinda stood there. Just hanging a hair above the floor like balloons with barely enough helium to keep them afloat. </p><p>You didn’t have a reason to stay.</p><p>Until Pan made one up.</p><p>An hour or so later Pan’s twirling his chair around to face you, sweeping away dust that isn’t there. He pats the cushion. “Come, liebling! Not a finer seat within my treasure box, rest assured.”</p><p>“Oooh, the royal throne,” You tease. “Don’t mind if I do.”</p><p>As soon as you plop down into the chair Pan grabs one of the arms and throws you into a spin. </p><p>You shriek with a laugh. Pan chuckles as well, stopping his game of chair merry-go-round to have you face his many computer screens. You’re still giggling as you settle. Arms reaching over your shoulders, his hands dangle in front of you, fingers punching at his keyboard and only every so often does he reach over to wiggle his mouse. </p><p>Warmth blooms in your chest. Your blood feels thicker but you somehow feel lighter. Allowing for your head to fall back, you gaze up at the underside of Pan’s chin as he hovers over you. By aid of his many screens, his edges are all lit up in a crisp blue.</p><p>The side of his nose. The curve of his cheek. The goose bumps on his Adam's apple and the cut of his jaw.</p><p>It makes you blush like a freakin’ dork. And it’s nice being this close to him. </p><p>Really nice. </p><p>In fact, you think you’d kill a man in cold blood if he’d wrap those long arms around you and rest his chin atop your head. </p><p>Pan catches you staring. His eyelids droop a bit. Your stomach does a somersault and you almost think he’s gonna lean down and plant one on your forehead before he says, “Within the belly of the dark web there exists a coalition of sub groups with contrasting morals and motives. Choosing to demarcate themselves in an attempt at exclusion, these classifications of individuals are known as..?”</p><p>Damn. No forehead smooches for you. If only, right? Hah…</p><p>Anyways.</p><p>“Uhh, Black hat, Blue hat, Grey and White hat,” You look down and count your fingers. “There’s also Crackers, Hacktivists, Elites, and…”</p><p>You frown. Pan chuckles.</p><p>“Go on, liebling.”</p><p>“....Script kiddie.” You mumble.  </p><p>“Ohhh, come now,” Pan lifts a hand from his keyboard and ruffles up your hair. “Do not allow for your lack of experience to plant a seed of resentment within you. It is as they say, after all! One must wet their feet before acquiring the talent to sail the seven seas!”</p><p>So a little bit earlier while you guys were loafing around in his kitchen, Pan brought up the idea of showing you some of the software he created back in the day. However, in order to understand any of it, you’d need to gain an appreciation for the basics and culture of hacking. His words. Not yours.</p><p>Whereupon he taught you some of the ropes. Just stuff about what the different hats mean in conjunction with what they do, like how Black hat hackers are total dicks but white hat hackers are kinda like vigilantes. And that’s just what scrapes the surface.</p><p>In any case, from what you’ve gathered? The hacker world is it’s own place outside of time and space. It’s a constant war zone of those who prey on the complacency that’s been bred during the digital age and those who combat that very sentiment. </p><p>Good guys versus bad guys. Predator versus prey.</p><p>But a true master? Wears many faces.</p><p>And Pan is apex. </p><p>He’s got programs for programs and software for software. All of which he drafted and made custom, thanks to his time spent in the armed forces. Well, special forces. Yeahhh. Pan was one of those. He was in the intelligence sector of the German air force and learned more than enough while enlisted to start himself as the man he is now from scratch.</p><p>It’s a step above admirable. </p><p>And it makes your head freakin hurt because so much of it is math and math is the worst. </p><p>At which point Pan’s pulling up a black screen with more lines of text than your Mom has credit card debt. </p><p>Oh god. This is some Matrix level hijinks, isn’t it?</p><p>“Sooo,” You reach for a cookie. One of the ones Mira made, and Pan’s already tanked seven of them. “How does it work?”</p><p>Pan yoinks your cookie before you can put it in your mouth. You leer your eyes at him. He chuckles and takes a bite. “Mhmhmhm, this software in particular is an early darling of a malware program I fashioned some time ago. Named Atlas for the way in which it plucks and stores information at ease, this program is best utilized under the innocuous disguise of an everyday blue collar email.”</p><p>“See here,” Pan gives each of his fingers a quick lick before hitting the enter key. The lines of text begin scrolling and a window pops up in the top left corner, already filling with new folders. “While admittedly rudimentary, Atlas still functions quite nicely if I do say so myself. In fact, you are currently witnessing a meager pilfering of any and all information introduced via keyboard by the intended.”</p><p>“....So it’s a key recorder? That’s what it’s called, yeah?”</p><p>“Ah, so close! Most unfortunately, no cigar. The answer in which you seek is logger, mademoiselle. Keylogger.”</p><p>“Pffft,” You lean back into his chair. “Close enough.”</p><p>A chuckle catches in the back of Pan’s throat. “I’m reminded of the expression horseshoes and hand grenades.”</p><p>“Yikes. Sounds like experience talking?”</p><p>“I will err on the side of choosing to not bore you with the particulars,” Pan stifles a groan. “Alas, many of my nights as a fledgling hacker were spent deciphering where I may or may not have positioned a number in place of a blasted letter.”</p><p>“Ya know, it’s not the same? But I can totally empathize with that. I can’t tell you how many times in Slay all Zombies I’ve ran out with 9 mil only to realize that I was carrying a 12 gauge and not my pistol.”</p><p>“One of your video games, might I presume?” Pan chuckles. </p><p>“Yeah! It’s the same thing with my panther fast. I’ll leave with 7.62 and be like, damn it, I need my rockets, what am I even doing with my life.”</p><p>Pan lifts a brow. He blinks a few times before his shoulders bounce with a laugh. “Liebling! Might you be attempting to pronounce Panzerfaust?”</p><p>“Yeah. That. The panther fast.”</p><p>Pan’s smiling wider by the minute, laughter still dancing on his breath. Then his voice softens. “Sie sind in jeder Hinsicht wertvoll. Hm?”</p><p>“Uhhh,” You glance around his room before shrugging. “I guess so?”</p><p>Pan’s expression melts at that, his face being taken into something that reminds you of what you think a star might dream about. Your heart panics and floods a warmth into your cheeks.</p><p>It makes you wanna kiss him. </p><p>Instead, you choke down a swallow. “So, um, the stuff about the g-groups? Yeah! The groups. You said there was another one, some guys above elite? You uhh, never told me their name. At least I don’t think you did? I mean, you brought up the Masters of Decepticons or whatever but you said they were chump change so..”</p><p>You give him a guilty look. And much like his everchanging online persona, Pan’s face transforms.</p><p>“Young lady,” Pan grins something wicked this way comes at his reflection trapped behind the screen. “I bid you welcome to The Divine Comedy.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>So it’s going on midnight and you know more about hacking than you’d care to admit. </p><p>Fingers crossed that you’re able to retain half of this. If you’re luckier than you were with high school, you’ll keep about forty percent of what he talked about. And that's generous. To be fair, you think it's gonna get stored somewhere between an endless array of useless video game knowledge and pop culture references. </p><p>The rest will disappear, though. Bye. It’ll get eaten up by the trash compactor at the back of your mind. Ya know, that thing that decides that embarrassing moments from your childhood are more important than stuff like this?</p><p>Nice.</p><p>Anyways.</p><p>You should probably get going, but…</p><p>Pan hasn’t opened the letter from Cole yet. It’s just sitting on his counter like a last slice of pizza.</p><p>Like, really? Is he not gonna open it? <em> Is no one really gonna take the last slice? </em></p><p>Fiddling with your keys, you glance between Pan while he unlocks his door and the envelope. Mira said something about this weekend, right? </p><p>“Liebling,” Annnd he caught you staring at it. “Might I remind you that curiosity doth slain the feline.”</p><p>You shrug a shoulder. “I’ve got nine lives. What’s in it?”</p><p>The hint of a frown twitches at Pan’s lips. He redirects his focus back to his security system and it chirps with a beep.</p><p>He doesn’t open the door. Instead, his shoulders droop a bit with the sigh he’s trying to not let you hear.</p><p>You take a step towards him.</p><p>“...Is it a potluck or somethin? I mean, I could go to the store and pick up some potato salad? Everyone likes potato salad. And if you don’t you’re wrong.”</p><p>“That I cannot be certain of.”</p><p>“Wait, about the potluck or potato salad? Cause don’t you dare breathe a bad word about potato salad.”</p><p>“Nein, geliebte,” Pan huffs a tired laugh. “In any case, allow me to wish you safe travels so that you may be on your way.”</p><p>…Oh.</p><p>You stare at his back while he toys with the door handle. Then you grab the envelope and bring it over to him.</p><p>“Seven lives. Don’t ask about the last one.”</p><p>Pan doesn’t say anything. There’s a pause that falls between the both of you until he takes the envelope, tears it open, and reads over the letter within. </p><p>You finger at your keys as you await an explanation. He doesn’t look mad or sad, just… like he’s got a ghost screaming behind his eyes.</p><p>You touch his arm, a pit drawing itself into your stomach. Did someone he knows die?</p><p>No, Mira wouldn’t have sounded so cheery about a funeral.</p><p>Pan grimaces a smile. He folds the letter up, slides it back into the envelope, and then he slips past you and stuffs it into one of his kitchen drawers. Placing both hands on the counter, Pan stares ahead at nothing in particular. </p><p>After a minute or so he leaves his kitchen and plunks down into his office chair.</p><p>He’s just sitting there.</p><p>And you’re just standing here.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>“Gute Nacht, Holly. As per usual, I would kindly request that you forward me a message when you arr---.....”</p><p>Pan stops mid sentence. He watches you like a hawk as you pull the letter out of his drawer and give it a read.</p><p>...There’s a pool party this Saturday. Five thirty in the afternoon. Top of the building. </p><p>You glance down into his drawer and leaf through what must be another dozen or so envelopes. They all look like this one, give or take a few that are different colors. But the handwriting is all the same.</p><p>“Why?" You peep up. "Why don’t you wanna go?”</p><p>Blue light dripping over his shoulders, Pan’s bathed in the neon of his many computer screens. None of it compares to the ice packed behind his eyes, though. Not when he’s staring at you like this.</p><p>You tuck your head down.</p><p>Avoiding the attention he has on you, you sneak the letter back into the drawer. “..I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just… never mind. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Pan doesn’t speak up. His eyes give you a last look before he turns his chair to face his monitors. </p><p>Good job. You just way overstepped your welcome.</p><p>Your eyes fall to the kitchen floor, heavy with tears. No. Suck it back in.</p><p>One of them rolls down your cheek. You grit your teeth as it splashes against the tile.</p><p>God damn it.</p><p>You take your leave as quietly as possible. Doing what you can to hide the tremble on your breath, you clear your throat before closing his door behind you. “G-Good night.”</p><p>No response.</p><p>Great. You’ve fucked this up.</p><p>You squeeze your eyes shut and close the door--</p><p>“Would you accompany me?”</p><p>You whip around so fast you’ve got jet lag on your emotions as your face nearly smacks into Pan’s chest. He’s a bit disheveled looking, what with the way he’s got a hand on the door and how his hat is in the other. The buttons on his suit jacket are also undone, leaving his vest exposed. </p><p>You can’t look up to his face, though. If you do, you’re totally gonna lose it.</p><p>Instead, you nod your head more times than you think are necessary.</p><p>“W-Want me to bring potato salad?”</p><p>"That," Pan chokes on a wet chuckle. "T-That would be lovely."</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> Babies. ;-;</sub></p><p>
  <sub> Bonus: Atlas was the name of the World item Nine's own Goal had stolen from them back in Yggdrasil.</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Struck by lightning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub>You decide to not bring potato salad to the pool party.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter twelve<br/></sub>
</p><p>𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Wednesday and Thursday passed with little importance.</p><p>Friday was the same, but you’re still pretty proud of all the work you accomplished for Pan. You’ve taken the time these last few days to put a serious dent into those documents he’s been having you edit. If you were to take a stab at guessing, you’d like to think you’ve finished around a quarter of them.</p><p>It’s easy, all things to be considered. You just boot up a playlist of music and do your thing.</p><p>Some of your favorite edits have included:</p><p>Framing whoever Mrs. Harris was for a DUI.</p><p>The one where the state governor didn’t sign a petition and then oh wait, weird, it now has his signature. </p><p>And let us not forget: Hey, those up at the NFPA. That wasn’t arson. It was a common house fire. </p><p>But that’s in the past now. Cause today is Saturday. </p><p>In which you find yourself at the mall again because the thought of this pool party later today kinda maybe being a date between you and Pan has your heart pumping rainbows through your blood.</p><p>Goodbye self control. It was nice knowing you.</p><p>Hello new bathing suit, acrylic nails, and you’re getting a pedicure because why not. It’s awesome. They even shave the little hair on your big toe off that you missed. Okay, so maybe that’s a little odd, but it’s awesome nevertheless.</p><p>You get black tips with a sash of teal to match your bathing suit. Oh, and some rhinestones. As a treat.</p><p>Your next stop is to hop over to the salon next door. Truth be told, you can’t remember the last time you had anyone tame the beast of hair that sits atop your head. Most days? You just run a comb through it and then do your thing.</p><p>But…</p><p>It’d be nice to look nice, ya know?</p><p>What’s that saying, again? If you look good, you feel good? Yeah. That.</p><p>Also Pan.</p><p>...Mostly Pan.</p><p>You get your hair done. The entire time the ladies in the shop talk among themselves while you fiddle with the Pokemon emulator on your phone. They discuss this, that, and the other. Kids. Child support. The latest craze on Television. All that jazz. Meanwhile, you just really wanna see if you can beat the first Gym before they’re done with your hair.</p><p>Which you did. Remember kids, grind those early levels in the tall grass so you can kick Brock’s ass. </p><p>After paying your stylist, you zip over to one of the full mirrors. You wanna get a good look at it all again.</p><p>Twisting a curl around your finger, you pull it down and then allow for it to <em> boing! </em> back into place. For the most part, your hair is already pretty curly, but more akin to those curls that look like they haven’t been brushed in forever versus something Goldilocks would sport. </p><p>But now? They’re soft. They look like neat little spools of yarn, all tight and bouncing just below your shoulders. And although you’d hate to admit it, your hair like this makes all of your freckles look pretty good. Ma says they’re just proof that the angels from up on high loved you so much. Ya know, cause all of your freckles are where they littered you with kisses. </p><p>Yeahhh. </p><p>You never bought that. </p><p>You’ve always just seen them as where God shrugged a shoulder, tossed some dirt at you, and then told whoever was on duty for the human production line that you were ready to go.</p><p>But right now? You can’t help but smile a little. You’ve kinda got the whole innocent Irish girl thing goin’ on. Just slap a gap between your teeth, throw on some overalls, and name yourself Abigail and you’d be set.</p><p>Anyways.</p><p>It’s goin’ on one and you still need to pick up some potato salad.</p><p> Orrr… </p><p>…You could head home and make it yourself. That’d be better than buying it, yeah? Everyone respects the person that makes their stuff from scratch rather than the lazy bastard who just goes to the store and picks it up. </p><p>You’re pretty sure you’ve got all that you need at home.</p><p> You know what? Why not. Let’s go home and make some potato salad. </p><p>It can’t be that hard. </p><p>It’s just potato salad.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>So you’ve got a mix of red and gold potatoes boiling on the stove. There’s some peels clinging to the sink that didn’t quite make it down the garbage disposal. You’ll get those little escape artists later with the splashy splashy thing. </p><p>Among your arsenal of salt, pepper, and mustard, you’ve got your phone propped up and guiding you through a recipe. There’s also some music playing in the background that you’re humming along with while you chop up some onions.</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qjah_pdTbtM&amp;list=PLpxaq1_99kwL8T3i3XEoluL0-daeqwqtM&amp;index=11">🎶 𝘞𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴.</a>
</p><p>Hell yeah.</p><p>Next on the docket, the recipe calls for some boiled eggs annnnd uh… wait. Are eggs dairy? After a quick google check, no, no they’re not, but…</p><p>No eggs. Better to not play with fire. Wait, what about mayo? Is mayo cool?</p><p>Looks like mayo is cool.</p><p>Okay, so you’ve got mustard, mayo, salt, pepper, paprika, some chopped onions, the taters, and… vinegar? The fuck?</p><p>You shrug and grab the bottle of vinegar from under the sink. </p><p>Mixing the ingredients into a bowl, you slap in a spoonful of mayo, a squirt of mustard, and a splash of vinegar. You then toss in the onions and because measuring can suck a fat one, you just pour in however much salt and pepper you think it needs. You’ll save the paprika for last, though. In all seriousness, you think it’s mostly just for color? </p><p>What does paprika even taste like? </p><p>You lick your finger and dip it into the container.</p><p>Oh. Ew.</p><p>It’s bitter. </p><p>Yep. Definitely a color thing.</p><p>Once finished with combining the ingredients, you get to work with draining the potatoes. It says not to overcook them or stuff will get mushy. Ew. Nobody wants soupy potato salad.  You think taking them off a bit early will help prevent that? Sure, the water has only been simmering for fifteen or so minutes, but potatoes don’t take that long to cook. </p><p>You chop them up into bite sized squares once they’ve cooled. Well, as bite sized as you could get them. Some of them kinda look like they’ve been through a war but ehhhh it’ll all look good once it’s been tossed together. At least they were easy to cut, being super firm and all.</p><p>Annnd it looks like you’re done! You quickly give the recipe a once over and yeah, that’s it, and…</p><p>You frown. Wow. This is really boring. So much for <em> The best southern potato salad recipe ever! </em></p><p>Pffft. They all say that. So you know what?</p><p>You’re gonna be the one to make this the best recipe ever.</p><p>With a smile spreading across your face, you prance over to your fridge. Okay. Looks like we’ve got the usuals in here. Ketchup, milk, eggs, that little box of baking soda in the back, some jelly--... Jelly? Would Jelly be good? There’s grape and strawberry-- Oh! And there’s also that jar of salsa.</p><p>Huh.</p><p>Isn’t that what the fancy chefs do? They combine sweet and savory to make stuff taste awesome?</p><p>To be fair, Mira was able to make cookies out of avocados and those tasted great…</p><p>You grab the grape jelly, salsa, and whatever capers are. Those look interesting.</p><p>Why not.</p><p>You rub your hands together.</p><p>Let’s.</p><p>Get.</p><p>Dangerous. </p><p>Gritting your teeth, you grunt before popping the lid off of the salsa. You pour that chunky stuff in, little hunks of red tomatoes, olive green peppers, and all. What follows are the capers, then a healthy spoonful of grape jelly. Humming along with the music, you retrieve a wooden spoon and give everything a stir.</p><p>…</p><p>And it’s brown. </p><p>Why is it brown.</p><p>Oh no.</p><p>You give the spoon a suspicious look before licking it.</p><p>WTF.</p><p>Oh my god! This is horrible!?</p><p>Ew! </p><p>It tastes like how a dirty sock smells??</p><p>Why god? Why?</p><p>Ugh, and you made so much of it though??</p><p>You swing your head out of the kitchen and glance around. Ma ain’t home, right?</p><p>…</p><p>...Maybe this just needs to set? That’s a thing, yeah?</p><p>You sneak it into the fridge and place the gallon of milk in front of it.</p><p>Shhh.</p><p>This never happened.</p><p> </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>You’re not brave enough to wear just a swimsuit over to Pan’s place.  So you did some laundry, washed your jeans, and you’re wearing your bathing suit under those. It’s nice cause the skirt attached just makes it look like you’ve got on a long and flowy blouse.</p><p>You do your make up in your car because you’re a total creep and already at the apartment complex. What? The weather is nice. And it’s not like you’ve got anything else better to do.</p><p>A little foundation here, a dash of blush there, some mascara that makes your eyes do the Jessica Rabbit thing, and then some lip gloss that smells like cherries because you’re a child. What? It tastes good. </p><p>You decide against eyeliner and eye shadow. Don’t wanna come across over dressed and desperate.</p><p>..Even though you got your hair and nails done for this. </p><p>You swipe a thumb over your phone to reveal the time. Ugh, it’s only three?</p><p>Well.</p><p>Time for some Pokemon--</p><p>
  <em> Vbbbbt. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘖𝘩𝘰𝘩𝘰? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘴𝘱𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)<br/><sub><sub>𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 3:02𝘱𝘮</sub></sub></p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>Your cheeks feel like they’ve got fire trapped inside of them. Squirming in your seat, you try not to giggle as you shoot him a message back.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><br/>𝘓𝘰𝘭, 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘺𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯?<br/><sub><sub>𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 3:02𝘱𝘮</sub></sub></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘓𝘪𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨! 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘳 𝘥𝘢𝘺, 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘦𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦!<br/><sub><sub>𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 3:02𝘱𝘮</sub></sub></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘢𝘵? 𝘕𝘰 𝘸𝘢𝘺 😎<br/><sub><sub>𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 3:03𝘱𝘮</sub></sub></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘐𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘦𝘥! 𝘐𝘵 𝘪𝘴, 𝘢𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘢𝘺, 𝘸𝘢𝘺. 😎 <br/><sub><sub>𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 3:03𝘱𝘮</sub></sub></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>..𝘋𝘪𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘸𝘪𝘱𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘥𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘦?<br/><sub><sub>𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 3:03𝘱𝘮</sub></sub></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘗𝘦𝘳𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘴. 😎😎😎<br/><sub><sub>𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 3:03𝘱𝘮</sub></sub></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘖𝘮𝘨! 𝘎𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬!! &gt;:𝘊<br/><sub><sub>𝘚𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘵 3:03𝘱𝘮</sub></sub></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>𝘏𝘢𝘩𝘢! 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘮! 😎 <br/><sub><sub>𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 3:03𝘱𝘮</sub></sub></p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>You’re giggling like an idiot as you throw your car door open, kick it closed, and dash inside. On the elevator ride up your phone starts buzzing.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>😎😎😎😎😎</p><p>
  <sub> <sub>𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘵 3:05𝘱𝘮</sub> </sub>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>And now you’re laughing, covering your face with a hand. This dude right here. You swear to god.</p><p>As soon as the elevator doors slide open on the tenth floor, you march outside of those bad boys until you’re face to face with Pan’s place. </p><p>Right as you knock on his door he throws it open, a grin spread across his face. And then you’re laughing again. In fact? You’re laughing so hard that you do something you rarely ever do.</p><p>You do that ugly snort thing.</p><p>He has on a pair of sunglasses.</p><p>“Oh my god,” You snort again. “I can’t even with you right now! Take those off!”</p><p>Pan allows for his sunglasses to slide down the bridge of his nose. He cocks a brow as he chuckles, “And here I was expecting a battle worthy of the ages?”</p><p>“Hey now, what did I tell you about my right hook?”</p><p>Lifting up onto the tips of your toes, you pretend to punch Pan in the chest. Just a little pop of your fist.</p><p>“Liebling!” Pan’s grinning so wide you’d think he was born with a smile stuck to his face. “And what about you, hm? Might you happen to recall that of which I explained unto you about toying with a loaded weapon?”</p><p>You giggle at that, a crinkle in your nose.</p><p>Pan redirects his attention to your fist, cause, ya know. You still have it against his chest. His expression softens and he takes your hand into his.</p><p>Pan taps your knuckles. You unfurl your fist to reveal your fingernails, to which Pan takes the time to admire them, turning your hand from side to side. It’s like he’s appraising the clarity of a diamond until he lifts your hand up to his mouth.</p><p>Then he presses a kiss to your knuckles. “You look lovely, Schätzen. Truly.”</p><p>The warmth that travels from your hand to your heart has you believing that you’ve actually been struck by lightning. Everything goes numb, save for the drumming of your pulse in your ears.</p><p>Pan takes a step forward. And another. Your eyes widen. Everything is the sharp scent of his cologne as your back hits the wall and Pan leans forward, resting an arm above you.</p><p>“Young lady,” He chews on his cheek. “Might this be for yours truly?”</p><p>This is the second time you’ve been close enough to him to see the flecks of silver in his eyes. You struggle to swallow before stealing a glance at his lips.</p><p>“I-I, I mean,” You choke out. “H-Hey! Hey, what about you?! I see you! Yeah!”</p><p>It’s true! He’s all decked out in his Military uniform, the dark blue one with all the shiny medals.</p><p>You jab a finger into his chest. “Yeah! You! Dressed in your Sunday--Well, it’s actually Saturday but--That’s besides the point! You’re all dressed up too, ya know. This is for me, isn’t it?”</p><p>A sharp inhale hits your lungs like water breaching the hull of a ship. Regardless of the fact that your back is already against the wall, you try to shrink away.</p><p>You did not just say that. You did <em> not </em> just say that.</p><p>How much money is in your bank account, again? How much is a plane ticket to anywhere but here? </p><p>Pan’s ears are glowing red. The bridge of his nose is burning even hotter, and he kinda looks like a little boy as he whispers, “G-Guilty as charged, Mademoiselle.”</p><p>...</p><p>Holly.exe has stopped working. Windows can check online for a solution to the problem.</p><p>&gt;Check online for a solution and close the program?</p><p>&gt;Close the program?</p><p>You blink a few times. It helps your brain to play catch up and-- oh my god?! Did he just really admit to that?!</p><p>A surge of giddy energy sings through your blood. Waves of warmth roll over your shoulders and it’s like you’ve got the sun on your back for the first time.</p><p>An all consuming smile dawns over your face. Walking your fingers up his chest, you find his tie.</p><p>You give the knot a soft tug. “Ya know… I could take you to prison for that.”</p><p>“It would seem as if I’ve been had,” Pan glances down to his tie and gulps. “Haha..haaa, rest assured that is no easy task. As you know, why, I-I have not been caught—“</p><p>“In over twenty years,” You finish his sentence.</p><p>Pan’s eyelids droop. “Under the threat of a most beautiful duress do I find myself apprehended. Oh, how the tables turn.”</p><p>You dare to take a breath. His eyes are so blue right now.</p><p>“And yet,” Pan smirks. “The roulette wheel ceases for not a soul.”</p><p>Wait, what?</p><p>Your brows furrow. “Huh?”</p><p>“Haha! Liebling! To come to a battle such as this so vastly under prepared--”</p><p>You give his tie a sharp tug. “You were sayin?”</p><p>“Two words, Mademoiselle.”</p><p>“Which are?”</p><p>Pan sucks at his teeth.  “Potato salad.”</p><p>“Shit!” You slap his chest. “Shit, Of course you’d notice that I don’t have it! Ugh! Look, it had an accident, alright?!”</p><p>“Oh? How scandalous! Would you care to elaborate on the details?”</p><p>“...This ain’t the kinda accident it can walk away from, Pan. It’s sleepin’ with the fishes.”</p><p>Pan chuckles. “It should be worth noting that the delightful treat that I have decided to gift upon the good folk of this apartment complex will reconcile their grievances for the absence of potato salad.”</p><p>Oh thank god. At least he had the foresight to make something so that you guys don’t have to show up empty handed.</p><p>“Well, what did you make?”</p><p>Pan smiles warmly. He takes a step back and offers you his arm. “Shall we?”</p><p>You feel lighter than air as you hook your arm through his.</p><p>..This really is kinda like a date, isn’t it?</p><p>Once on the elevator, Pan hits the upward facing arrow key. The doors slide shut.</p><p>You scooch a little bit closer to him. “So what are you bringing, anyways?”</p><p>All Pan does is look at you and smile all the brighter.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> I love this chapter.</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Golden mean</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>
  <sub> You and Pan are the first ones to the pool party.</sub>
</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  💫 ˜”*°•.˜”*°• 𝓐𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓤𝓷𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮  •°*”˜.•°*”˜  💫</p><p>
  <sub>Chapter thirteen<br/></sub>
</p><p>𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯</p><hr/><p> </p><p>Sparrows hop, chirp, and dance along the lip of the roof of the apartment complex. The rustling of leaves compliments their presence. Up above, the sky is peppered with clouds. They part in wisps against the soft glow of the sun. </p><p>The pool shimmers like it’s been filled with liquid crystal rather than water and chlorine. To the left, there’s a bin loaded with colorful foam noodles, diving rings, and a beach ball. There’s also a few inflatable lounges leaning against the tub.</p><p>Not too far off from the diving board there’s a grill, complete with a fold out long table and plastic chairs. Out for the ready rest a few cooking utensils. A stainless steel spatula, tongs, and a pokey thing. </p><p>It’s quiet, save for the gentle song from the birds. Peaceful. There’s an old school boombox though over by the fold out chairs and umbrellas that you’re pretty sure is gonna be the life of the party at some point.</p><p>But for now, all is calm. </p><p>Tucked away in the corner near a planter box bursting with roses sways a hammock. One of those cotton rope ones with a bamboo stand. It’s pretty big, looking as if it could host two to three people rather easily. It reminds you of one of those better home and garden magazines.</p><p>It looks cozy. Inviting. Makes you wanna take a nap in it.</p><p>You inch closer to Pan. You’re still arm in arm with him, and until he decides it’s time to break free you’re pretty content with staying like this. </p><p>“Sooo. Looks like we’re the first ones here, yeah?”</p><p>Pan chuckles. He turns his attention skyward. “Considering our charitably premature arrival? I would conclude that as a safe assumption.”</p><p>You watch the clouds roll over his sunglasses. He looks so stoic right now. Lost between where he’s standing and the space between him and the clouds.</p><p>You sneak a hand into your back pocket and fish out your phone. Would he let you take a picture of him?</p><p>...Would it be creepy if you just did it anyways?</p><p>Wait. Hold on a minute.</p><p>This is<em> Pan </em> we’re talkin’ about. Ya know, the dude that makes a living out of being kinda creepy?</p><p>You purse your lips and raise up your phone. Easy does it... </p><p>
  <em> Click! </em>
</p><p>Surprisingly, Pan doesn’t do much other than allow for the hint of a smile to poke at his lips. Then he reaches into his coat pocket, retrieves his phone, and does something to it without even looking at it.</p><p>His smile grows.</p><p>“Liebling,” Pan bites back a chuckle. “Say, Käse.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>
  <em> Click! </em>
</p><p>You glance around the roof. Where did that sound come from--...</p><p>There’s a security camera perched atop the door leading back into the apartment. The red light fixed into the glossy lens blinks before dimming.</p><p>You frown at Pan. “That’s bull.”</p><p>“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Pan tuts.</p><p>He inclines his head your way. Nudging his sunglasses down a hair, he reveals his eyes and glues them to yours. “I rest assured that you are aware of the implications behind the idiom all is fair in love and war, ja?”</p><p>You try to swallow but it gets stuck.</p><p>He dropped the L word. The<b> L</b> word.</p><p>And now you’re giddy.</p><p>You save the picture and stuff your phone away. Instead of answering Pan, you’ll allow the smug bastard to have that one as a win. It’s not like you have a response.</p><p>So you change the subject. Go, deflection!</p><p>“Say, other than this? Do you.. Do you have any plans for this weekend?”</p><p>“An excellent call into question,” Pan ponders. He takes a small step forward. “Perhaps you would care for a leisurely stroll while we discuss such matters?”</p><p>And so your walk with Pan around the courtyard rooftop begins. It’s nice. Really nice. You’re unsure if he’s doing it on purpose or not, but the click of his boot heels are falling in line with your footsteps. </p><p>He’s quiet, at first. But it’s not the kind of quiet that sets your teeth on edge. It’s more like an ocean wave lost in it’s own sea.</p><p>Pan fills his lungs. You watch how his chest swells. How the sun scatters light across his many medals. How the gentle breeze in the air sweeps over the fabric of his suit.</p><p>...He doesn’t get out much. Come to think of it, you’ve known him for a few weeks now and he really hasn’t stepped foot outside of his apartment until today.</p><p>You scooch an inch closer to him. Glancing towards his arm that’s locked with yours, you reach over and press a hand against his elbow.</p><p>“What’s on your mind?”</p><p>Pan releases his exhale. “As expected, you are more perceptive than I have cared to give you credit for.”</p><p>You furrow your brows. Pan fakes a smile.</p><p>“Worry not for my sake, liebling. Sincerely! Now, allow us to parlay dialogue over your previous supposition.”</p><p>Following Pan’s lead, you stroll over with him towards the hammock. You stop as he stops, and he turns to face the planter box overflowing with roses. They’re the little teacup kind. Bright pink with tiny freckles of pollen. He slips his hand into one of the bushes and snaps one free.</p><p>“Tell me,” Pan carousels the rose. “What is your opinion on our dynamic? Do you consider the dubious tasks that I have you perform to be troublesome?”</p><p>You free a sigh that rattles your lips. “I mean, if anything? I’ve learned through all of this that I’m a little more morally grey than I’d like to be.”</p><p>“But I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” You nudge a finger towards a rose that has a ladybug on it. “I don’t mind learning about myself. But, in any case? I mean… as bad as this sounds? So long as you keep me covered it really doesn’t bother me at all.”</p><p>The ladybug crawls onto your finger. You smile. “As for us, though? I guess… I dunno. I really don’t wanna put my foot in my mouth with this one, but… you don’t feel like a boss. Don’t take that as an insult, though. Kay? I just--</p><p>“Consider your sentiment returned,” Pan digs his fingernail into the stem of the rose he plucked. He begins shaving off one of the two thorns. “And nein, Geliebte. Understand that I gathered not a crumb of issue from your integrity. Rather, I had been hoping for your answer to be as such.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?”</p><p>“Mmm,” Pan hums. He pops off a thorn and starts working on the next one. “Within my field of work, I have oftentimes found it to my advantage to act under Aristotle’s theory on ethics, morality, and virtue.”</p><p>With the final thorn removed, Pan turns to face you. A thoughtful smile sweeps over him as he presses the rose into your hair. “The Golden mean.”</p><p>Even though it’s the middle of the day? Pan has this way of making you see stars.</p><p>...His sugar has to have magic in it.</p><p>The ladybug on your finger unfurls its wings. You lift your hand and follow as it drifts into the air and floats away.</p><p>Your lips frame around your next words with a giggle. “So. Bonnie and Clyde?”</p><p>“Minus the unnecessary gore,” Pan chuckles. “I care not to deal with, as they say, the dirty work. I allow for my influence over the masses to carry the weight of my nefarious exploits.”</p><p>“That’s more than fair. I mean, I’m fine with picking stuff up from the post office but I don’t wanna have to commit murder again.”</p><p>“...Mademoiselle. That is quite the bold claim.”</p><p>You giggle. “Two words.”</p><p>It takes him a second. Then he slips with a giggle of his own, shaking his head a bit before retrieving his sunglasses. He gives them a shine with the handkerchief from his breast pocket. Cheeks brightening, you can’t help but smile so wide that it hurts as he sets them onto your face. His expression softens while he fits the curve of the frames over your ears.</p><p>“Well,” Pan whispers. “Rest assured that I will see to it that your lugubrious deeds are expunged from your record.”</p><p>Your nose crinkles. A laugh breaks past your lips and you bury your face in his arm. “Ya know, I appreciate that? Cause I’d really hate for my mark on this world to have me known as the tater slayer.”</p><p>“Ah,” Pan chuckles into a pause. “That is a dreadful sobriquet.”</p><p>“See?!”</p><p>Pan’s still chuckling from the back of his throat. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re wiggling closer to him, hoping that the fabric from his blazer and your swimsuit will somehow magically stitch themselves together.</p><p>You don’t want today to ever end.</p><p>“Young lady?” You look up to Pan’s face, a light blush tinting his cheeks. He gestures with his head towards the hammock. “P-Perhaps, if it would be to your fancy, you would care to join me?”</p><p>Your chest fills with butterflies. “Y-Yeah! Totally! Ya know, I actually don’t think I’ve ever been in one before?”</p><p>“Really now?” The blush trapped in Pan’s cheeks deepens. He’s still grinning, but not looking at you as he tests the firmness of the hammock. The cotton ropes bounce against the press of his hand. “Upon further investigation of my past experiences, why, I-I do not believe I have either?”</p><p>“Um, first time for everything?” You give him a cheesy smile. While taking a seat, you ask, “So on the topic of the post office, have you ordered--?!”</p><p>Within a heartbeat, you’re shooting Pan a panicked look. He returns the expression.</p><p>You both plunk down into the hammock at the same time without realizing that maybe this isn’t how you’re supposed to sit in a hammock?!</p><p>Pan starts laughing and barks out something in a string of German. You shriek with your own laughter, and your world goes topsy turvy while you roll into the middle with him. And you don’t know up from down. Your hair is everywhere. It’s sticking to your lip gloss. </p><p>But all you can smell is the sharp, woodsy scent of Pan’s cologne as your nose smooshes into his chest. And the only thing wilder than the hysteria of your heartbeat? Is the wanton flutter of Pan’s against your cheek.</p><p>You can’t help but smile, though. You’re smiling like you’ve been sucking on a lemon wedge as you manage to squeak out, “I’m on top of you, aren’t I-I?”</p><p>Pan’s laughter sounds like soap bubbles from heaven. </p><p>“Quite the compromising position we have found ourselves in, ja?” </p><p>You try to lift your head up and a hiss escapes your lips. Turning your head to the side, you whimper around a giggle as you take notice of how your hair has gotten tangled up in all of his medals.</p><p>“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, just a sec--”</p><p>“May I?”</p><p>Pan threads a hand through your hair. His fingers ghost over yours.</p><p>“That'd actually be great?” You let out an airy laugh. “It’s like a jungle in here.”</p><p>Pan chuckles in response to that. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to unweave your hair from his medals, twirling all the curls away as if you were both spinning Christmas ribbons free from a present. </p><p>It’s a little bouncy, but you manage to get both hands on either side of Pan’s shoulders and onto the hammock. Just to be sure, you check his medals a last time to be certain that you’ve been completely detached. You don’t wanna rip one of them out.</p><p>Then you lift up and you’re left choking on your heart.</p><p>Pan’s eyes meet yours. You don’t care to stop his sunglasses from sliding down your nose. Neither does he. </p><p>You’re hyper aware of everything. His head on the pillow sewn into the hammock. The cool breeze tickling your arms. The gooseflesh on his neck. Your breasts pressing into his chest. The blush creeping into his face and the light scattering off of the insignia on his cap.</p><p>The thump of his heart against yours.</p><p>“H-Hi,” You choke out.</p><p>“H-Hallo, lieb-liebling.”</p><p>“Um, nice weather we’re having. Y-Yeah?”</p><p>Pan’s Adam apple bobs. His eyelids droop a bit and he rests a hand in the small of your back. “I do not recollect a time where I have found the sun and the warmth she provides to be more lovely, truly.”</p><p>Is he trying to kill you?</p><p>Tucking your head down into your shoulders, you feel your cheeks flushing as you whisper, “..Is this okay?”</p><p>Pan blinks a few times. Then he smiles so softly that you think you’re gonna melt into him.</p><p>“Only if this is to your comfort, Geliebte.”</p><p>You don’t answer him. Instead, you give him the sweet smile he’s giving you before you rest your head on his chest, opposite his medals. Pan releases a breath that tickles the top of your head. He spreads his legs to better accommodate you, and you slide down a little bit, your knees cuddled up to his thigh. You reach down and smooth out the sheer skirt of your swimsuit, the tulle spilling over his suit pants and lending a teal shimmer to them.</p><p>Pan swings a leg off of the hammock. Pressing his boot against the ground, he lends an idle sway to his knee and the hammock rocks to and fro. You steal a peek up at his face before closing your eyes.</p><p>He’s staring up at the sky. A soft smile has him while the clouds roll over his face in wisps.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>˜”*°•.˜”*°• Hey! I draw art for my stories sometimes. •°*”˜.•°*”˜</p><p><a href="https://download077.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> | <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/download077">Deviantart</a></p><hr/><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>・:*☆ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 ☆*:・ 

</p><p>
  <sub> Not gonna lie, they're making pulling off this slow burn tag <i> really </i> difficult. 😅</sub></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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